


Sleight of Hand

by goldenteaset



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creepy Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fishing, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Mentor/Protégé, Mystery Character(s), POV Alternating, Power Dynamics, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hisoka’s wristband is stained in red. Blood trickles across the taut line and drips on the lush grass. If Gon looks close enough, he can see the flesh tugging and tearing with each movement he makes.</p><p>Hisoka’s smile grows wider and wider.</p><p>Hisoka chuckles low in his throat and crooks a finger. 'Well? Come and lend a hand.'"</p><p>In which Gon tries to hook Hisoka's tag earlier, and gains a complicated relationship in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for Hunter x Hunter--I'm sure Gon's more intriguing/disturbing aspects aren't as obvious yet, but I'll get there! I started writing this during the Zevil Island segment of the Hunter Exam Arc, if that helps. (This _is_ the kid who used another Hunter examinee as Hisoka-bait without batting an eye, after all. ^^;) 
> 
> Also the POV will be: two parts for Gon, then Hisoka. (Gon will be much older by then.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hunter x Hunter.

Gon is not afraid; why would he be? He isn’t a kid anymore, and his new, first friends believe in him. _I’ve beaten everything else to get here. Now I just need to get Hisoka’s ID tag._

With that, he hops from tree to tree through Zevil Island, unseen by the other examinees. Leaves as green as his clothes tumble down with each leap, but he can’t help that so he doesn’t bother. The palms of his hands _scrape_ harshly against the jagged-feeling bark, his knees begin to shake with exertion—but he hasn’t found Hisoka yet. There’s no time to stop.

A plan begins to form, as rough and uneven as Leorio’s have been. Gon lets his palms tingle with pain and gifts the trees with bloodstained bark. He doesn’t mark all of them, only those that catch the sunlight. It keeps him going, keeps his heart racing.

\---

Finally, he stops by a gently burbling river, washes away the blood, and waits. He fishes to pass the time, letting his arms become one with the line as he lets it fly.

_Looks like there’s nothing here. Too bad…_

He watches the red float bob in the water and wonders why Hisoka wanted to see his fishing pole. _It’s not_ that _special. Maybe he liked the float? It’s almost the same color as his hair…_

An overpowering chill settles on the peaceful scene.

Gon shivers and whips his head around. There isn’t a single bush rustling or startled birds—but he knows this strange sensation by now. _He’s here._

Hisoka smiles, and the forest shadows part for him. His strides are as languid and unflinching as always—aside from that one cut on his shoulder, he’s unharmed. Once again, the more Gon looks at Hisoka, the more _strangely fascinating_ he is—he’s never seen someone wearing clothes like that, or walking that way, or…

“I’m pleased to see you on your guard,” Hisoka says in that slippery, pleasant voice. “I was worried I’d find you dead, without your friends by your side.”

Gon keeps silent and tries to be subtle about searching for Hisoka’s tag.

“I was really worried, you know! You’re just a rookie, and rather trusting…”

_The tag was on his chest…maybe it’s underneath his shirt, or that scarf around his middle._

A smile slithers onto Hisoka’s face, and he strikes a pose: one leg in front of the other, arms outstretched as if before a cheering crowd. His yellow eyes gleam in sly acknowledgement.

“Are you looking for something?” he asks, his tone shamelessly sneaky. He sweeps one hand to his chest and pretends to look shocked. “Oh, how peculiar. Perhaps it’s missing?”

Gon squints at Hisoka and ignores the concerned disappointment fluttering in his chest. “You can’t have lost it—that’d disqualify you, and you want to win.”

“Mm, true, true,” Hisoka trills. “And yet”—his eyes bore into Gon’s, as bright as grease on gold—“you want to help me find it. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s a trick.”

Hisoka shrugs one shoulder.

Gon hauls his fishing line back and stares at his prey for a long moment. He calms himself by cleaning the three-pronged hook, despite not catching any fish.

“Nothing in here,” Hisoka says cheerily, turning out his pockets.

Gon listens carefully for the faint _clink_ of shifting metal.

“Nothing in—”

_—There!_

He throws all his strength into the cast. The fishing line _zips_ through the air; the hook glows white in the sun.

The hook catches on Hisoka’s left wristband. Gon tugs with all his might—

_Rrrrip._

_Clink._

Hisoka’s tag lands on the ground.

Gon can’t help but laugh with delight. He tries to tug again, but…the hook won’t give an inch. He snaps his head up to look. His smile fades.

Hisoka’s wristband is stained in red. Blood trickles across the taut line and drips on the lush grass. If Gon looks close enough, he can see the flesh tugging and tearing with each movement he makes.

Hisoka’s smile grows wider and wider.

“I,” Gon begins, but what can he _say_? Apologizing won’t work, not while Hisoka looks so pleased. His mouth turns dry. Words fail him.

He braces for the inevitable attack.

Hisoka chuckles low in his throat and crooks a finger. “Well? Come and lend a hand.”

Gon reluctantly steps forward, on the lookout for any tricks. Every time the fishing line dips and lurches, his stomach ties itself in knots. _This has happened before, and I just cleaned the hook. I’ll just need to be careful, that’s all._

Gon stands before Hisoka all too soon. He flinches as Hisoka crouches down to give him a better view. The calm, almost gentle smile on Hisoka’s lips doesn’t help.

“Thanks,” he says, despite the conflicting emotions roiling in his belly. _With him looking so closely, I can’t reach the tag. Damn it!_

He reaches out and tenderly takes hold of the hook’s metal loop, trying to ignore the red droplets slicking his fingers.

He looks up to gauge Hisoka’s reaction, and reflexively takes a step back. “Stop looking like that!”

“Like what?” It seems to be a genuine question, judging by Hisoka’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re blushing.” A thought occurs to Gon. “Is that because of me, or because of the pain?”

“Which would you prefer, hmm?”

Gon scowls and ignores him. “Just hold still.”

Hisoka laughs and complies. His eyes never leave Gon’s face, seemingly searching for something hidden. After awhile, the smile falls from his face, replaced by eerie blankness.

 _That’s even worse._ Gon doesn’t say so aloud. Instead he continues fiddling with the hook. It doesn’t take long before he’s fully immersed in his task; everything falls away, leaving only the sensation of cold metal and hot blood on his hands.

 _…Hisoka’s warm._ The thought comes to him from nowhere, and it confuses him. _Of_ course _Hisoka’s warm, he’s a human too!_

And yet, with all the things Gon’s seen Hisoka do during this exam, his skin should feel as cold and clammy as swamp water in winter. It doesn’t make sense.

Hisoka lets out a strange noise, and Gon snaps his head up.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, his throat turning dry.

“Of course not.” It’s somewhere between smug and soothing.

Gon decides it’s the latter and beams. “I’m glad!” _But maybe he can’t feel anything?_

“Such a good boy…”

“What?”

“Has no-one complimented you before?”

Gon looks down at his feet awkwardly. “Not like that.”

“What a shame. Someone like you deserves better.”

Heat rushes to Gon’s face, and he tries his best to shrug off the strange response. “It—It feels like the hook’s almost free! You must be happy.”

Hisoka blinks slowly, like a tiger after a hunt.

A disgusting _squish_ breaks the silence—it could be the wristband, or flesh.

“…I’m sorry.”

A suspicious chuckle gusts past Gon’s hair, but nothing else follows. _Maybe that’s his way of saying ‘you’re welcome’. It’s too late to apologize, anyway._

A thought occurs to him. “Hisoka, why’d you want to see my fishing pole?”

There’s a sly, thoughtful pause that fills the air with cloying uncertainty. Suspicion trails its icy fingers up Gon’s neck.

Hisoka’s brows furrow in thought. “Hmm…there are many options to choose from. I’ve seen hundreds of weapons in my life, and many ways to use them. But a fishing pole is a rare sight! Especially one as unique as yours.”

“It’s not _that_ different. You can buy one like it in any bait and tackle shop!”

Hisoka grins and holds out a card—the five of clubs—with his free hand. “And you can buy a pack of cards in any store. Our weapons are special because _we_ use them.”

Gon feels a burst of relief as the hook gently eases free. He focuses on Hisoka’s face, the way his brows furrow slightly and his expression tenses, followed by a soft, relaxed sigh.

“There, done!” Gon smiles in satisfaction—he can collect his tag and leave. “First, I need to wash it again…huh?”

He holds the hook up to eye level and squints at it. It’s drenched in blood, as expected, but there’s something wrong. _Shouldn’t there be skin on it? And the tips aren’t broken…!_

It’s as if it never pierced flesh.

“Oh dear,” Hisoka says, his voice rich with amusement. “It appears your apology was _quite_ unnecessary!”

 _No way—this’s impossible._ But no matter how Gon looks at the hook and the wound, it doesn’t add up. It occurs to him Hisoka could be immortal, but that’s _absolutely_ wrong. The hook dangles and sways in the breeze, as though mocking him.

His vision blurs. Blood roars in his ears.

Gon swings his fist—

—And connects with air.

He stumbles forward. His eyes flick everywhere in search of Hisoka. But there’s nobody else here.

And as a final insult, Hisoka’s tag vanished too.

Gon resists the urge to fling his fishing pole to the ground, and focuses his breathing. In…out…in…out, it’s a continuous lulling rhythm like the river rolling behind him. His heartbeat eventually slows, and he tells himself to remember this trick.

\---

When Gon _does_ retrieve the ID in a well-timed cast, only to nearly lose it again and have it returned by Hisoka, his rage powers through his body’s paralysis. He’s in a game whose rules seem just understandable enough to be nonsense.

He can’t bring himself to believe Hisoka’s words, as he carefully explains why Gon’s being kept alive. _Is this another trick? It has to be!_

“I believe you earned this.” Hisoka places his tag in Gon’s hand as if it’s a gold star on a report card. “Take care of it for me!”

It takes all Gon’s willpower to thrust out his hand and try to throw it back. His arm spasms and does nothing.

“I don’t…want it,” he growls, lurching to his feet on unsteady legs.

Hisoka’s smile flickers with annoyance. “Oh? Then tell me how I captured your hook.”

Gon’s teeth chatter; his mind is blank.

“…You’re a magician.”

“Ooh, so close! I’ll give you another chance. Think hard, now…”

He tries to throw the tag again—

Hisoka’s fist slams into his face.

The world arcs; he doesn’t feel the ground repeatedly _thud_ against him.

“When you can punch me in the face just like that,” Hisoka says in the distance. “Then I’ll gladly accept it.”

The ease that Gon was toyed with still stings days after, no matter how he distracts himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Heaven's Arena, Gon guesses at Hisoka's previous scheme, and gains a sink-or-swim magic lesson. (It's surprisingly non-lethal, for once.)

At Heaven’s Arena, Gon finds another benefit to his loss against Gido: he has plenty of time to fish. It’s difficult with one hand, but that’s one more useful technique to learn, in the end.

He manages to find a quiet pond within city limits—you need to pay per hour to fish, but he has money to spare, now. _And I finally got that cast off! Hmm…maybe my arm_ is _back to normal?_

Gon experimentally flexes his still-healing arm and cringes. It feels weighted down and makes a creepy _click_ when it moves—so he’s still stuck being careful when it comes to holding things. _One-handed fishing it is, I guess._

He sits at the end of the dock, enjoying the cool green water rippling against his ankles. He watches birds and turtles hunt for food and try to bask in the cloudy sun. Despite the tranquility around him, he expects a visitor.

 _I made sure Hisoka’d know where I was. Or maybe I should’ve been more obvious…?_ He shrugs and lazily tugs at the line. _Oh, well. He’ll show up or he won’t, that’s fine either way._

He spies picnickers setting up under the lush willow trees nearby, as well as on the opposite sides of the pond. Some of them strip to their swimsuits and wade into the cool water, their loud voices ringing out like alarm bells. The birds scatter in a panic, and the turtles vanish underwater with barely a ripple.

“Hey!” Gon leaps up and points at the obnoxious swimmers, his skin heating. “Stop scaring the animals, this is their home. Act like guests!”

At first, the swimmers seem to ignore him. Thankfully they listen after all, and tread carefully.

“Thanks,” Gon says with a grin, and sits back down.

Gon doesn’t have long to wait—and this time, Hisoka makes his presence known loud and clear from the outset. It could be the _Nen_ training paying off, or that Hisoka is purposefully coddling him, or a bit of both.

Gon turns his head and watches Hisoka’s trembling reflection glide down the dock to him, and feels the wood shift and _creak_ as he sits on the side. They’re cat-cornered, which makes it easier for Gon to look back at him, then at the pond.

“You certainly showed them.” Hisoka flaps a hand toward the distant swimmers. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“I figured out your trick,” Gon says casually, holding his fishing pole loosely in his hand.

“Do tell,” is the equally casual reply, carrying a velvety, ominous undercurrent.

“You used _Nen_ to stick the hook to your skin. Then when you got bored, you let go.”

Hisoka makes a pleased, purring sound deep in his throat. “Ah, but what about the blood?”

“It smelled real.” Gon refrains from saying _It smelled like you._ Aunt Mito told him that was rude to say a long time ago. He frowns in thought. “But—maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe it’s a prop?”

“An _excellent_ guess.” But there’s no further clarification.

Gon sighs and tries not to look disappointed. He steels his resolve and looks Hisoka dead in the eye, only a little nervous.

“I won’t let you pull that trick again—I’m on my guard this time!”

“Oh, I know.” Hisoka chuckles and leans back, his body curved artfully. “But I’m curious to see what other new techniques you’ve learned, fishing pole or _Nen_.”

“You were watching my fight.”

“How could I resist? Hanzo dealt quite a blow to you at the Hunter Exam—and while that was a fascinating scene, I prefer a more _detailed_ fight.” A manicured hand curls and sways, punctuating the description: “I want to see wits, artistry, and a passion to succeed…that’s what Heavens Arena charms out of fighters like you and I.”

Gon wonders at Hisoka’s voice, how husky and delighted it sounds. He feels something tug at his line and turns his attention to fishing.

“It does sound nice!” A familiar, airy rush tickles his heart.

“Really? What a pleasant surprise.”

His lure bobs leisurely back and forth in the water. For a long moment, tranquility settles over him, even with his strange companion so close by.

Gon looks back at Hisoka, who’s now lying on his back with his hands folded on his belly. Gon flicks a glance over him, checking for muscles coiled to spring; instead he sees that Hisoka’s as lazy and loose as a python in the sun after a meal.

_Now’s my chance!_

Gon’s smile stretches across his face. “Do you want to fish with me?”

Hisoka slowly opens one eye, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

It’s an unexpected question. Gon flounders helplessly for a moment. “Well—why _not_? You like my fishing pole so much, so I thought…”

Hisoka’s lips curl into a something resembling his usual smile, but this time it’s incredulous and doesn’t linger. “What an excellent way to learn about my _Nen_! Once again, I must say I’m impressed.”

Gon holds up the promise ring bound around his finger. “I promised Mr. Wing I wouldn’t learn about Nen, see? This is—”

“—All the more reason for me to leave.” Hisoka’s on his feet in an instant. “Perhaps another time, when your promise is dealt with.”

Gon yearns to hit him for his stubbornness. Another option floats into his mind. He reels in his line and rests his fishing pole on the dock, careful not to let it fall into the pond.

“What’s the matter, boy? Are you planning to catch me again?”

Gon ignores the taunt and leans forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“Hisoka, could you teach me a magic trick?”

As he hoped, Hisoka stops in his tracks and glances over his shoulder. “Why do you want to learn?” His voice is tinged with amusement.

“I’m _booored_ , that’s why,” Gon says, stretching his words like putty. “And your magic tricks look like fun!”

Hisoka chuckles and—after a pause designed to tease—sits back down. He takes out two decks of playing cards (one red, one blue), and holds them out in each hand. They look ordinary, even from up close, and Gon admires the swirling detailing on the backs.

“Our goal is to have identical cards...if fate allows. Pick a deck, and we can begin.”

Gon chooses the blue deck in Hisoka’s right hand, and finds the deck placed in his palms. The cards feel lighter than expected, and—he runs a finger along the edges—they feel too soft to slice flesh. _He must use_ Nen _on them._

“Now, then,” Hisoka says with an indulgent smile, “can you shuffle cards?”

“Yeah.”

“Good boy. Then do as I do.”

Gon watches carefully as Hisoka shuffles his deck, first in the way he’s used to, then in more complicated styles like through the air, or backward then forward. Gon watches carefully and learns quickly, and soon their movements are synchronized.

“Well done,” Hisoka says, as they make a final shuffle. “And now, we trade.”

The decks change hands. Gon carefully ignores the tingling feeling Hisoka’s fingers leave on his palms.

Gon eagerly prepares to blow on the cards for good luck, the way he saw a sailor do once, but a chiding, clawed finger gets in his way.

“Ah-ah-ah! We need to cut a card from the deck, and memorize it. Like so.” Hisoka flicks a card out of Gon’s deck and brings it to his face.

Gon does the same and looks at his card carefully—it’s the nine of diamonds. He stares at Hisoka’s amused expression, then back at his card.

“…How long do we look?”

“As long as you need.”

“Oh, okay. I’m done!”

“Alright. Now we put our cards back, make another cut and exchange them.”

Gon can’t help but feel restless about this—he wants to see the _trick_ , not this endless rearranging. But he forces himself to be patient. _If I complain, Hisoka will laugh at me again. I’ll prove him wrong!_

After their decks change hands and they make a final cut, Hisoka’s smile spreads mischievously across his face. Two cards lie face down between them.

“I’ll count to three. One…two…three! And now—look at your card. Is it the same?”

Gon’s heart pounds as he slowly turns his card over. He laughs in delight. “It is, look!”

He holds it out for Hisoka to see—and stares at the nine of diamonds in Hisoka’s hand.

“How did you…?”

“Indeed.” Hisoka rests his chin in his hand. “Recall all the steps, and see if you can find the answer.”

Gon’s jittery with excitement. “No, thanks. Let me try it instead!”

“Are you sure?”

Gon nods, unsure why this needed clarification.

“Very well—your eagerness is entertaining.”

Gon’s mind races as he tries to repeat the steps. But, despite his best efforts, something always goes wrong—maybe he can’t shuffle quickly enough, or he doesn’t know the decks well enough. When the cards are different, he tries again. And again.

“Just tell me!” He finally yells, utterly lost. The cards are scattered about, hearts, aces, clubs and diamonds in disarray. “Why can’t I understand?”

He expects Hisoka to mock him and leave. He waits for the dock to _creak_ and shift as his opponent—or his mentor, he isn’t sure—stands up and walks off. But nothing happens: only an uncomfortable silence lingers.

Gon glances up warily, with his whole body tensed for another hit. When he sees Hisoka’s hand slowly descending on him, he flinches and prepares to block.

_It’s another tri—huh?_

A huge, warm hand pats his head, then retreats in an instant. He’s stunned by the tingling sensation that slides down his neck, and instinctively scratches—how _else_ can he respond?

“Good luck!” Hisoka sounds almost encouraging.

The cards are scooped up in a blink. _I’ll have to buy my own, then._

Hisoka’s already strolling away, waving lazily over his shoulder.

“ _Idiot_!” Gon yells, knowing it’s useless but too angry to care.

As his grim mood rolls over him like a storm, he returns to fishing with a vengeance. He can’t help but turn over the card trick in his mind, still trying to analyze it even as his head pounds.

As he reels in his line and casts out one more time, a possibility flashes in his head: _Did I check the bottom card?_

As if to even his loss, he finds a gleaming rainbow sunny flailing on the end of his hook.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, Hisoka reunites with Gon in a sleepy village. There's a shadow over Gon's heart, but that only makes his joy more brilliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! It took awhile to figure out certain problems with this chapter. ^^;
> 
> So here's the solution: I haven't caught up with Hunter x Hunter yet (right now I'm in the middle or so of the Chimera Ant arc), so consider this a canon-divergent AU for anything involving Hisoka in the manga. Because otherwise everything would be jumbled, to say the least!

Hisoka strolls down a forest path, the summer sun beating down on him like a hammer. His clothes cling to him, and not in an appealing, comfortable way: he feels sticky from his hair to his red flats, and his face paint threatens to run in rivulets down his cheeks.

While he searches for water and shade, he amuses himself by wondering how Gon’s doing. _What could compare to his beautiful glare, and his fists pummeling my face? And that was so long ago, now. Hmm, he should be—eighteen, if I’m remembering correctly in my old age._

Hisoka chuckles and wipes beads of sweat from his brow—it’s also an excuse to preen: he’s barely aged a day since then. Despite that, Machi has become a millionaire due to how many body parts of his she’s had to reattach. His fingers in particular took a long time to regain their sensation again, but luckily he _had_ the time. _Thankfully, Gon wasn’t around to see such hideousness. I have a reputation to maintain!_

Just as he considers giving up on finding water, he has a stroke of luck. A village comes into view, as though born from a storybook: there are cobblestone streets, roofs like dragon scales, and an atmosphere both bustling and tranquil. Best of all, he can smell fresh water.

Hisoka picks up his pace, braces himself for the commotion, and enters.

After walking on packed dirt and stepping over roots, the tanned cobblestones feel uneven at first. It doesn’t take long for Hisoka to regain his balance; he slides out of the way of passersby like wind across water.

The locals are friendly, but not suspiciously so: they offer him cool, sweet water from one of their wells and ask him about the outside world. He can only tell them so much—he’s not the news-watching type—but the villagers find his stories entertaining all the same.

 _Do they not have Internet access?_ He takes a long, thoughtful drought from his glass, enjoying the smooth, liquid chill glide down his throat. _They’re probably just being polite. I’m a potential customer, after all._

“What’s your profession…sir?” a man rugged from years of carpentry asks, looking Hisoka warily up and down.

Hisoka curls his lips upwards in warning. _Not that it matters._ “Oh, I’m a Hunter—and a magician. I’ll happily entertain for food and board.”

A knot of children squeezes past the carpenter, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Another Hunter? Cool!” A squat, freckled boy grins up at him. “What kind of Hunter are you, mister?”

“Guess!” Hisoka poses with one hand on his chest, the other gesturing to his attire. “If you’re correct, you win a prize.”

The children begin throwing out options one after the other—one girl calls him a Beauty Hunter, much to his amusement—but all of them are incorrect. _What a pity! Perhaps I should give them a clue…_

“He’s a Combat Hunter!” A tenor voice rings out above the crowd, like wind chimes.

“Correct!” Hisoka turns on his heel to look at the winner.

It’s a young man, seated at a covered stall. From what Hisoka can see, he’s wearing black sunglasses, a simple straw hat, and a white sleeveless top that shows off his wiry but muscled arms. There’s no _Nen_ coming from him that Hisoka can sense—but _Zetsu_ makes such things hard to gauge. _But you seem to sense my aura, if your tense shoulders are any indication._

“Hooray, it’s Mister Ryoshi!”

The children surround the stall like a barricade, barraging him with so many questions and requests there’s no way they could be answered.

Ryoshi laughs again and waves his hands slowly, and the babble subsides. “I’ll play in a minute—I want to see my prize first!”

There’s a flicker of aura, like the sun’s morning rays, emitting from the strange man. It’s gone in an instant, but…

 _Now_ Hisoka’s attention sharpens. His chest feels a little warmer, and not just from the heat. He strolls to the stall, his smile coming close to being genuine. The children shrink back to let him pass, as if they sense an ominous shift in the air.

“I’m afraid it isn’t much of a prize, but here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of stickers he’d bought on a whim, decorated with chocobots.

Ryoshi looks at the stickers with surprising interest. Even with sunglasses on, his face lights up like his birthday came early. “I didn’t know they made these—thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Hisoka replies, blinking in surprise at such enthusiasm. People rarely react that way to his gifts.

The children congratulate Ryoshi and eagerly drop jennies into a brightly-colored collection tin. The _clink_ of coins is swallowed up by the sounds of villagers bustling about.

Ryoshi puts the stickers aside carefully, and brings out two decks of cards: one red, one blue. “I’ve got new trick for you today,” he says, an undercurrent of mischief slipping through his casual tone.

Hisoka doesn’t need to see beneath the sunglasses to know who it is, now. A sensual chuckle threatens to burst from his throat, but he holds it at bay. Instead he watches intently.

“I wanna arm-wrestle again,” one gangly boy complains, but the others shush him—some more gently than others.

“We’ll do that later,” Gon says. He tips his sunglasses down and grins rakishly at Hisoka. “Right?”

Though his right eye is covered with a white eye-patch, the remaining eye glows with a familiar light.

“That sounds fun,” Hisoka purrs in reply, before taking a long, sensuous sip of his water. Gon’s reflection warps through the glass.

The children look ready to jitter out of their skin.

Gon holds out the two decks to his captive audience, careful to show how ordinary they are. “Who wants to volunteer?”

The gangly complainer raises a smug hand. “I’ll take the blue one.”

“Okay!” Gon hands the deck over with a smile that could charm vipers. “Now, do as I do.”

Hisoka leans forward slightly before he’s conscious of it. _Here’s my chance to see how you’ve grown…don’t disappoint me, Gon._

To his pleasant surprise, Gon has mastered his card trick from so long ago: he’s clearly practiced it time and again, and the decks are as much a part of him as his aura _._ He watches Gon close his eyes and let the cards flow from hand to hand.

The whispering _whirr_ of paper is as soothing as ever, no matter if Hisoka’s holding the cards or not.

The trick goes off without a hitch, and Gon’s audience is enamored with it. They babble amongst themselves, trying to guess how it worked. Gon simply smiles mysteriously and leans back in his chair with a _creak_.

Hisoka wanders off to get a refill, putting a slight sway into his hips for Gon’s sake. He can feel his eye on him—why not put on a little show? _You’re able to appreciate it now._

When he slinks back into the cool comfort of Gon’s stand, he notes the slight flush on Gon’s ears with a spark of pleasure.

“Well done,” Hisoka calls out, one hand on his hip. “You’ve improved quite a lot since I last saw you!”

Gon’s smile falters for a moment, as if he’s surprised Hisoka remembers. “Thanks,” he replies, and his eye strays to Hisoka’s hands.

“Is something the matter?” The answer is obvious, but Hisoka wants to hear it from Gon’s lips.

There’s a long pause before Gon smiles and shakes his head. “I just remembered something I watched on TV a long time ago, that’s all.”

 _He_ did _see._ Hisoka can’t help grinning. “Don’t worry, I won that fight in the end. I just took a more scenic route, so to speak.”

Gon raises his brows. “Oh, I bet.”

A familiar, pregnant sense of anticipation fills the air, and Hisoka’s body shivers pleasantly. If he were the type to dwell on the past, he’d say there’s a hint of sweet nostalgia mixed in too.

Gon leans forward, his every movement subtly predatory. His fingers slowly interlock, and a downright _crafty_ smile slips onto his face like it was awaiting its cue.

On a child, it would look endearing. But on an adult…

“ _Wonderful,_ ” Hisoka breathes. Heat shamelessly pools in his belly, and his heart begins to race.

Gon’s audience slowly disperses, like ashes in the wind. Their parents must have taught them good manners. The stand is now a small, whole world unto itself, undisturbed by passersby. They can interact in peace.

“What brings you here?” Hisoka moves closer and idly looks over Gon’s wares. “This village seems quiet and peaceful—a rare thing. You can’t have retired already!” _I haven’t broken you yet._

“Don’t worry, I haven’t. Actually, I’m taking a vacation!”

“Hmm. Your last mission must have been troublesome, then.” Hisoka inspects a wood carving of a tiger, noting the faint aura that’s wafting off it.

“I guess. Maybe?” Gon leans back in his chair again, his arms folded across his chest protectively. The light in his eye fades. “It was a dogfighting ring, making millions of jenny a year. They took kids from Meteor City sometimes—‘to keep things fresh’, they said.”

The idea alone leaves a bad taste, despite it not being uncommon. “And you and your friends stopped it, naturally.”

“Nope, just me.” Gon’s shrug is almost comical. “I didn’t want anybody else involved—there’s so much going on! Leorio’s medical practice is growing, and I don’t know where Kurapika is…but I’m sure he’s okay.”

There’s an almost imperceptible pause before he merrily continues.

“Last time Killua emailed me, he said he’s trying out being a masseuse like Bisky—or is he the spokesperson for chocobots? One of those—maybe both! Killua’s amazing, isn’t he?”

As amusing as the tangent is, Hisoka steers the conversation back to Gon’s solo mission. “And what happened with the dogfighting ring?”

A ghost of a frown flickers onto Gon’s face. “Well, the leaders in charge had tough bodyguards, and it wasn’t the sort of place with room to move. They liked to rush people; one-on-one wouldn’t work. So”—Gon held up the decks—“I did a little magic show!”

Hisoka’s cheeks twitch as he struggles to keep a straight face. “As per usual, your plans are delightfully peculiar!”

“Well, it worked—though not the way I’d expected.” Gon’s face scrunches up in displeasure. “You won’t believe this: they _fell asleep_!”

“…How _rude_.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know whether to be offended or not…but anyway, I went after the leaders. Here’s the fun part—they set their own dogs on me, and I could talk with some of them, so they joined my side. Bell and Whiskey are around here somewhere, actually! Bell’s a husky, and Whiskey’s a bulldog.”

Hisoka can sense Gon’s getting to a part of the story he doesn’t want to tell, so he acquiesces. “Are they your pets, or someone else’s now?”

“They’re everybody’s friends!” It sounds like a statement of fact and an offering.

“Ah, just like you.”

Gon blinks and shakes his head. “…No, not really. Not with horrible people.”

“How very vague. Who qualifies as horrible?”

“The Phantom Troupe, the Bombers on Greed Island…those gamblers. They’re all unforgivable…!”

Hisoka can’t resist. “What about me, then?”

Gon stares at him, his expression a familiar blend of curiosity and seriousness. Despite his age, it appears some things never change.

Seconds tick by, but Hisoka is patient. He knows the response will inevitably be entertaining.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Gon says with a sheepish smile, and jumps up from his seat. “Let’s arm-wrestle to pass the time! I’ll get you a stool…”

“That’s what I hoped you would say,” Hisoka purrs. He rests his bottle on the table with a _clink._

Gon chuckles and drags over a sturdy wood stool painted with frolicking dolphins. His baggy green shorts sway lazily from side to side, showing off the toned muscles he’s gained over the years. Gon _bumps_ against the table edge, rolling his eyes as if it’s a common occurrence.

It’s worrisome.

“Can you see properly?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine!” It _seems_ genuine enough, but…

“May I ask how you got that patch?”

“Nope!” Gon’s cheerful tone carries an ominous edge.

He places the stool opposite his stand and slowly straightens up, as if unveiling a grand prize.

It soon becomes clear what he’s aiming for. It’s a surreal sight, but one that makes Hisoka’s chest warm unexpectedly.

“You grew!” Hisoka chuckles. “You’re at my shoulder, now.”

Gon puffs out his chest and grins. “Aunt Mito said she didn’t think I’d grow this tall. Still, I made it!”

He ambles back to his seat and eagerly holds out his hand.

Hisoka settles in, inwardly shivering with anticipation as he stretches his muscles.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Gon says, that excited-yet-patient glow in his eye again.

“Of course not. That’d do you a disservice.”

Their hands slowly clasp. Hisoka shamelessly admires the warm press that follows, and the fanlike flutter of Gon’s pulse. _You’re still wary of me after all…_

As if sensing his thoughts, Gon mutters “Ready—go!”

Their muscles immediately begin to strain. Hisoka’s brows furrow as his elbow rocks against the relentless force. He keeps his eyes on Gon, watches a tantalizing bead of sweat trickle down his cheek and shiver at his chin. He notes that there’s still a sizable difference between their hands.

His finger brushes against a strange bump on Gon’s knuckles.

“Your hand’s been broken before,” he says, a throb of annoyance in his throat.

“A long time ago.” For once, Gon’s easygoing shrug rankles. “You broke your fingers twice against Razor!”

“True, but that was different.”

Hisoka presses his arm forward. Gon’s tanned skin trembles pleasantly against him. _It feels like a dream…_ oh _, how wonderful…_

“Are—are you using _Nen_ , Hisoka?”

“Oh, no; I’m following your example.”

Gon starts. Hisoka hears his teeth grind. But as always, he’s determined: his hand squeezes Hisoka’s even tighter.

“Good,” Hisoka murmurs. He puts more pressure.

The table shudders. The knickknacks _rattle._ And yet, neither party slips.

_I can feel your blood pumping, Gon…it’s making me—_

Hisoka snaps back to reality just in time for his arm to _bang_ against the wood table.

Gon wipes the sweat from his forehead, a surprised smile on his face. “I—I did it, I won!”

“That you did.” Hisoka isn’t fazed; after all, this was an appetizer, not a main dish. _A true, better fight will come…_

If it takes them longer than a moment for their hands to slip free, neither says so aloud. It may be something or nothing—there’s no way of knowing just yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Gon fight, forage and feast in a forest--and make a plan for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words are beginning to blur together now, I think this chapter's finished! The next chapter's going to take awhile too, unfortunately--I've been busy with RL, as you do. ^^;

Hisoka leaves the village the next day at sunrise, with a trace only a Hunter could follow. He has faith in Gon’s wolfish sense of smell. _Ah, the humidity is tolerable today!_

He chooses tangled, harsher terrain, roads less likely to be used by travelers. He strolls down root-riddled roads and bramble-buried paths without a care in the world, keeping his senses open for a familiar aura. He wonders about Gon’s eye, if he’s _truly_ healing, but Gon’s recovered from worse injuries. _Some of which I inflicted_.

After the sun begins rising over the trees, Hisoka decides to coddle Gon a little. He stops to rest in a forest clearing, guarded with red hyacinths—he suspects a previous traveler planted them many years prior. There are blueberries ripe to bursting, and he happily picks them. The sweetness _pops_ between his teeth, but the texture is a little mealier than he prefers.

Once Hisoka’s had his fill, he sits back beneath a huge, sturdy oak decorated in lichen and waits for Gon. He’s always been good at waiting, ever since he was a boy, searching for new tricks and talents to analyze.

His mother once told him _Sometimes you need to search for what you want, but other times, all you have to do is wait. Your job is to figure out which is which._

He settles on the latter, more often than not. Perhaps it’s because he’s lazy—or because he has remarkable luck. Most likely, the disaster with Chrollo back in Yorknew helped him (re-)learn not to rush things. Or a mixture of all three; regardless, he enjoys the effort and the reward when it comes to his hobby.

With the sun filtering through the lush green leaves, and the surprisingly cool breeze whispering against his skin, this is the perfect time for a nap.

Hisoka grins and lets his eyes flutter shut.

\---

Hisoka slips into wakefulness when he senses Gon entering the clearing. _Interesting—he isn’t using Zetsu. Could it be his_ Nen _is still missing after all…?_ It’s a bitter thought.

He decides to test the theory. He keeps his eyes closed, and relaxes his posture as much as he can without toppling over.

He listens to the _hiss_ and faint _thump_ of Gon’s feet walking through the grass, noting how he tries to leave the hyacinths undisturbed. There’s a drawn-out period of silence. Gon’s gaze clings to Hisoka like a predator eyeing its prey—or a dog investigating an odd-smelling stranger.

Hisoka breathes softly, hoping that this sounds similar enough to deep sleep to be convincing. He doubts it.

He hears a _very_ suspicious sounding chuckle, and it takes all his willpower not to give in to curiosity and “wake up”. Instead, he listens as Gon rushes off somewhere.

The silence borders on ominous. He’s forced to stop feigning sleep.

“Alright, Gon, what are—”

Gon swings from a tree vine like a manic pendulum, his grin growing wider and wider.

“What do you think of this?” Gon’s voice fades in and out in time with his swaying back and forth. “We can fight this way, it’s fun!”

Hisoka can’t help it: he muffles his growing laughter with a hand.

“Alright, you laughed!” Gon daringly punches one hand in the air, while the rest of him clings to the vine like a monkey.

“You know”—Hisoka casually ducks out of the way—“this isn’t strictly _fair._ There _you_ are, able to attack from all sides, and here _I_ am, utterly surrounded!”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Gon calls, now back where he started. He slips down the vine like a fireman’s pole, landing gracefully on all fours.

“You never know…” Hisoka lets his bloodlust ooze off his body and begins stretching his muscles. “It’s been a long time since we fought; you may have something up your sleeve!”

Gon follows suit, the sun dappling on his straining skin. He doesn’t seem inclined to answer Hisoka’s unspoken question—all the better to surprise him.

Gon snaps his fingers, looking like he just remembered something. He takes off his backpack and rummages through it, humming disjointedly.

“Ah, here it is!” Gon pulls out a silver water canteen and tosses it to Hisoka. “That’s for later, after we fight.”

“Thank you,” Hisoka says, placing the canteen under the tree’s shade. A shiver of anticipation trembles down his spine; this moment has been a long time coming.

“Should we use _Nen_ , or no?”

“Any other way wouldn’t be as fun—right, Gon?”

Gon’s grin is as blinding as direct sunlight; his gaze is even and brilliant. “This time, you won’t catch me off guard!”

Hisoka slides into a defensive stance, his heart pounding like war drums. “On a count of three…one…”

Gon squares his shoulders. His grin shifts to cool determination.

“…Two…”

Hisoka can’t help but lick his lips; Gon’s eye tracks his gesture thoughtfully.

“… _Three._ ”

Gon moves first. He kicks up dust as he races toward Hisoka, knee raised to strike.

_It’s a feint. He’s aiming for my face—again._

He’s right.

Hisoka blocks Gon’s punch with _Ken_ , reveling in the vibrations along their skin. He lifts his knee—but Gon’s faster.

They clash, split and clash again; sweat slicks their brows and clings to their backs. Hisoka sighs at the bruises blossoming on Gon’s skin. He’s gained a few love-marks himself, and can’t wait to admire them.

_But for now—let’s see if you remember my Bungee Gum, hmm?_

He unleashes a few strands; they cling to Gon’s chest and yank him forward.

Gon cries out, tries to pull them off; it seems he’s forgotten how futile that was. His flailing slowly subsides—he’s planning something.

“First comes—”

“— _Oh no you don’t._ ” Hisoka tugs the strands down.

_Wham._

Gon hits the ground hard, judging by the shudder that wracks his body. The hyacinths tremble.

Hisoka pulls him back up and forward, faster now. He angles his fist carefully.

Gon’s close enough to touch.

Hisoka grins as his fist _thwacks_ into Gon’s face. _He’s stunned—_

—But he’s wrong.

Gon lashes out instinctively; the world narrows to the numbing _thud_ of Gon’s fists slamming into Hisoka’s face.

Every impact feels like a spark on his skin, tingling briefly before being replaced. His body melts against it, and how could it not? Heat swirls from his head to his belly, granting him a pleasant tension. Perhaps he makes a pleased purr deep in his throat, or perhaps he simply smiles.

_…But now isn’t the time for reveling._

Using all the self-control he possesses, Hisoka snatches Gon’s wrists and forces them away. While Gon’s startled, he knees him in the belly.

Muscles spasm. Gon curls into a ball and wretches. His eye blazes murderously, an unparalleled beauty.

“Were your reflexes always this slow?” Hisoka ponders, his body roaring with adrenaline. He whips out a card and spins it between his fingers. “Or perhaps I’m just getting soft…”

Much to his surprise, Gon’s face pinches in displeasure. He slowly shakes his head—whether in regards to being slow or Hisoka being soft is unclear.

Hisoka chuckles and angles his wrist. _I could kill him right now, if I wanted. Perhaps I will._

As the seconds pass and he stares at Gon’s widening eye, he knows Gon realizes it too. His breath is coming in ragged bursts, he looks like he’s going to pass out.

Hisoka’s eyes narrow at the sight. It’s seems Gon isn’t _quite_ worth fighting to the death yet.

The card _hisses_ through the air and slices Gon’s neck. Blood wells up from the scratch, and Gon clutches at it in pale disbelief.

“Hisoka, what…?”

“It looks like I won again. But your skills are still impressive! Try not to show your weak spots next time.”

With that, he strides away, content to enjoy a refreshing drink of water. His throat feels parched already. _But this discomfort is worth it!_

The wind curves familiarly behind him. He ducks and hears Gon curse.

What catches his eye is the sight of his blood-spattered card embedded and _smoking_ in the tree.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out to touch the card. Instinctively, he flinches at the heat pouring off it. _How isn’t the wood catching fire?_

He hears Gon struggling to get up in the background, grumbling to himself about not losing again.

_Good. I wouldn’t want him to give up this late in the game._

And yet, something stops him. It’s not pity, nor is it sadism. As he turns around to get a better look at Gon lurching to his feet, he finds warm pride rising in his chest.

“Don’t help me up,” Gon says sternly—indeed, he’s already beginning to stand upright. “Next time, I won’t lose so easily!”

“I hope so.” Hisoka idly uses his Bungee Gum to grab his canteen, and uncaps it with a metallic _pop._

“Hmm…it’s early, and I don’t need to get my stall ready yet. I’ll get some fruit, and we can talk!”

“About what?”

“Well, you asked me what I’ve been doing, but I didn’t get to ask _you_ what you’ve been doing.” Gon scratches his head. “I know you had that tough fight at Heaven’s Arena, but after that…nothing.”

Hisoka sips his water, heedless of its warmth. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t stalking me all this time!”

“Ugh, _no_ , why would I do that?”

Hisoka laughs at Gon’s cringing face, and chooses not to answer.

Gon scrutinizes him carefully for a long moment, then shrugs and goes in search of fruit.

“I can help,” Hisoka calls, capping his canteen and strolling after him.

There’s an intriguing pause before Gon agrees. _Ah, he wanted to show off his foraging skills. Oh, well—he clearly knows this area better than me, so he’ll get his chance._

“You can pick up that card any time, by the way!” Gon calls.

“Well, thank you for the late warning…” Hisoka grumbles.

But as always, his annoyance doesn’t last for long. There’s breakfast to be prepared.

\---

While Hisoka picks more blueberries, he can sense Gon traversing the treetops, his feet barely touching the branches. It doesn’t take long before they have a smorgasbord of fruits in all kinds of strange shapes and colors awaiting them.

Hisoka places a pile of huge, tear-shaped leaves on the ground beneath the shady tree. “This should work for a table.”

“Thanks! This summer’s been pretty good, crops-wise,” Gon says cheerily, as he carefully lays his armload of fruits onto the “table”.

Hisoka sits back against the tree, noting how Gon carefully makes sure he isn’t in his space.

Just like at the pond-side dock from so long ago, they’re soon cat-cornered: Gon sits on a root, out of the sun’s rays, and eagerly digs into their breakfast. He seems to enjoy the yellow and brown-striped fruit the best, judging by the pleased noises he makes between bites.

“So, Hisoka,” Gon says, finishing one and grabbing another, “what’ve you been up to? I’m sure you’ve fought other people!”

“You know, I _do_ enjoy other things besides fighting—it’s a hobby, not a job. Ah, don’t make that disappointed face, I’m not offended!”

“Oh, good.”

Hisoka searches through the pile of fruits and finds a pink, peach-like fruit to eat. He idly searches it for any bruises or rot, noting the waxy feel of the skin.

Gon shifts impatiently, though he’s clearly trying to look relaxed. He’s taking smaller bites now, his focus entirely on Hisoka. _How flattering._

“Alright, I’ll tell you. While I usually spend time at Heaven’s Arena, after that certain fight you saw, I needed a little vacation. So, once I healed up, I did a little sight-seeing…”

As Hisoka regales Gon about his trip through the Republic of Padokia, he carefully peels off the fruit’s skin in long, spiraling strips. He tosses them away for the birds or beasts. Much to his amusement, Gon barely acknowledges it, clearly more interested in Hisoka’s story.

Once Hisoka arrives at the time he found himself sharing a hot spring with a family of snow monkeys, Gon’s patient stare melts into a gale of laughter. The sheer, raw joy in his voice spirals up into the sky, completing the peaceful morning landscape.

After Gon’s laughter subsides, he suddenly asks “How’s breakfast?” with a surprising amount of curiosity.

Hisoka swallows his last tangy, surprisingly crisp mouthful of fruit. “Delicious. Why?”

“Er, no reason. I just…haven’t seen you eat before.”

_Oh…?_

A wicked smile stretches across Hisoka’s face. “How did you expect me to eat?”

Gon’s cheeks flush becomingly, and for a moment he looks uncertain. But then, wonder of wonders, he looks Hisoka dead in the eye and says: “I thought you’d eat similarly to how you talk—seductively, that is.”

Even though Hisoka expected it, he still nearly chokes on his water. The mental image of Gon feverishly daydreaming about his eating habits is _delightful_.

“Don’t choke! I guess I overdid it, huh—sorry…”

“No, don’t be. I suspect that’s a common train of thought for you…”

Gon’s babbling reply only serves to dig himself deeper. Despite his protests, he clearly wants to see what Hisoka will do—but he’s obviously torn on it.

Hisoka picks up a juicy-looking sunrise plum and watches it glow faintly in the light. _I have no problem with handing you an “extra shovel”, as it were._

“Is this the ‘prop’ you had in mind?”

“Kind of.” Gon’s brows furrow worriedly. “What if you choke?”

“Then I’ll have an embarrassing obituary.”

“Pffft…Hisoka, that’s terrible!”

Hisoka opts to eat the plum properly, sensing Gon’s discomfort beneath his amusement. “Perhaps you’ll see the ‘seductive eating’ you long for another day…”

“Oh—I’d like that!” Gon’s smile looks a little sad. “You really are moving on, huh?”

“Yes. This village is peaceful, but not very interesting to me. If you’re curious—and I’m sure you are!—I’m headed for Yorknew next.”

“Good, I’ll keep that in mind!” There’s a thoughtful pause, then: “…I’m a little annoyed, actually.”

“About what?”

Gon scowls down at his feet, then up at Hisoka. “You’ve taught me so many different things—and I enjoy learning—but I feel like I’m straggling behind you all the time. I keep saying I’ll be better, but it feels like I’m _lying_ …!”

“You’re just starting out, that’s to expected. Actually, you’ve been spoiled over the years: your potential grows quickly, and you rarely have time to feel ‘inadequate’. I’d be relieved!”

“Still, though…” Gon’s brows furrow and his eye glows with rising resolve. “When I find you at Yorknew, I want to have something to teach you!”

Hisoka sighs and smiles, extending an open palm to him. “Just remember, I enjoy your company regardless of how you’ve improved.”

While it sounds like empty flattery, Hisoka is startled to find it’s genuinely meant to comfort. Gon seems to notice too, judging by his surprised smile.

Unfortunately, the world stops for no one. It doesn’t take long before Gon sighs and stands up, patting his full belly.

“Sorry, Hisoka, I need to get my stall ready! If I’m any later, someone’ll come looking for us.”

Hisoka smiles and wipes juice off his lips with his thumb. “I appreciate your need for privacy.”

Gon taps the bridge of his nose with a mischievous smile. “Thanks—but I was thinking _you_ wanted it more.”

Before Hisoka can fully appreciate such a metaphorical and physical gesture, Gon waves goodbye and dashes off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Yorknew, Gon's luck seems to run low--and even when he the opportunity to help Hisoka falls into his lap, Hisoka seems far more interested in tending to _him._ As per usual, even when Hisoka's being gentle, his motives are maddeningly unclear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for my absence, have an extra-long chapter...that was also the cause of the long delay! (Ah, the joys of trying to make sure Gon sounded IC-yet-obviously-adult...)

Gon arrives in Yorknew in the middle of the annual auction, carrying a backpack full of spoils from his recent expedition, his fishing pole and a small, wistful hope that Hisoka hasn’t left yet.

Yorknew is a deceptive city—not just because of the peaceful varnish on the grimy underbelly, but because of the snaking streets that can have dead-ends or worse where you least expect it. And at busy events such as this, people squirm through the busy streets like rats in a storm drain. It’s easy to get lost here, whether on accident or on purpose.

Gon picks and shoves his way through the barrage of sound and flesh, pleased that _this_ time he’s tall enough to see where he’s going. He’s surprised that the auction’s still as busy—maybe even _more_ so—than when he and Killua first came here. _Maybe it’s the Mafia’s way of keeping ahead of the Phantom Troupe? “Look at that, all the trouble you caused only made us_ more _popular!”; that kind of thing._

Gon is momentarily smothered by a group of older men and their heavy bags. Cotton, cologne and musk fill his senses. While it doesn’t take long for him to break free, the smells linger in his nose. When combined with the bitter fumes of city life, it’s too much to bear.

He dashes toward an open-air restaurant with manic desperation, and sinks into a metal chair like it’s as soft as plush. The potted plants that decorate the street stand like guardians of fresh air—though how much oxygen Gon’s actually _gaining_ is hard to tell. _Hopefully the owners won’t mind my barging in._ He stares up at the blue and white striped umbrella blocking the slowly sinking sun.

Gon’s plaintively gurgling belly interrupts his momentary bliss. _Well, time for lunch!_

After deterring one of the waitresses from kicking him out with the reassurance that he can pay, Gon settles in with a menu and eyes the options. As expected, _everything_ looks delicious, and he dithers over the pasta section for longer than necessary. Finally, he orders a plate of shrimp alfredo and orange juice.

The meal arrives quickly, and Gon’s stomach growls at the sight. The shrimp are tender and savory-sweet, the fettuccini pasta is the perfect consistency (not too soft, not too hard), the alfredo sauce is thick and creamy, and the tangy-sweet orange juice is fresh-squeezed. _This is the life! I should take a menu with me, just in case I come by again…_

He savors his lunch and lets the world flow around him: the chattering, bustling crowds, the competing scents of fresh food, the cries of sellers—it goes through him like a sieve, or a river against a boulder.

After Gon pays for his meal, he sets out again, keeping his senses peeled for Hisoka’s aura. Most of the people around him don’t have auras he’d consider noteworthy—pale wisps at best, nothing close to a Hunter’s. _It’s a little weird, after all this time around powerful people—like I’m not sensing aura correctly!_

Gon spends the rest of the day setting up his stall near the tail end of the market, then selling off his spoils.

“Treasures, big and small,” he calls out to passersby, his voice competing with the more eloquent hawkers. “Get a taste of adventure!”

A battered army helmet goes to a grizzled old woman, a carved bronze statue of a princess that _may_ have gold and jewels inside goes to a recently married couple…

Then his luck begins to plummet. Despite his attempts, the other sellers around him have more interesting, expensive and illegal stock. And he still can’t sense Hisoka.

Despite Gon’s efforts, he can’t keep his spirits up for long. Soon he’s in a morass of melancholy, a numbing greyness oozing into his chest. Everything seems fogged over, lukewarm and stagnant. It feels like…

_…It’s like that first year without Killua._

That thought is what pushes Gon to act. There were unexpected benefits to his and Killua’s departure: it forced him to remember how to enjoy being alone, and showed him how to feel sadness without being trapped by it. The latter still requires work, but he’s much better at it now than he was. He’s aware others aren’t so lucky, but he can’t think about that right now.

_This feeling will pass—now that I know what it is._

He lets himself wallow for a while as he packs his things. He fantasizes about the situation changing: just when all hope seems lost, _suddenly_ all of his friends show up as if conjured out of thin air, and _suddenly_ they get transported to Greed Island, and _then_ Ging asks them if they want to add a location to the game…

Gon feels a little lighter once his backpack is slung around his shoulders again.

It’s when he’s on the move that he _finally_ senses Hisoka—or rather, something with his _Nen_ on it. That teasing, flickering aura shifting between overwhelming and inviting could only belong to one person.

It doesn’t take Gon long before he finds the aura’s source: a five of clubs playing card…with something written in _Nen_ -letters on it.

He activates _Gyo_ , heart pounding with excitement. He pouts once he sees the hidden message: a phone number and a scribbled  _Call if you want an entertaining fight! <3 _

For a moment, Gon considers prank-calling Hisoka out of petty revenge. _Is he here or isn’t he? And if he isn’t—why tell me to come?_ He indulges in a few minutes of fuming, dimly aware that people are giving him a wide berth. Reluctantly, he reins himself in. _Pulling a prank worthy of Hisoka takes time, anyway…_

Curiosity gets the better of Gon, and he dials the number with clumsy fingers. The shrill ringing is no match for the rumbling crowds around him.

After getting a few wrong numbers (a rat-catcher, a phone sex operator, and someone who sounds suspiciously like Phinks from the Phantom Troupe), he finally gets it right. Gon’s heart races as the phone is picked up immediately.

“ _Hello, who is this?_ ” Hisoka’s familiar purr tingles against Gon’s ear.

“This is Gon.” He drops the formalities in a flash. “Where _are_ you? You said you’d be here!”

There’s a pause—it sounds like something heavy _whooshed_ past the receiver. “ _And where would ‘here’ be, exactly?_ ”

“Yorknew City, that’s where you left your number!” Gon shoves his phone in front of the card and snaps a picture. “Here, _look!_ ” He presses “send image to caller” harder than strictly necessary.

Meanwhile, the other line is full of someone—or a crowd—making a ruckus in the background. Gon hears Hisoka’s sigh _fizz_ with static, and a punch being thrown.

“ _Hearing your voice is_ such _a joy, compared to my current company._ ” There’s a _thud_ , and a hiss of pain. “ _One moment, my—fruit._ ”

“Your _what_?”

Gon has to hold his phone away from his ear as the noise escalates, growing increasingly wet and full of thick _crunches._ The din crescendos in a chorus of monotone groans—then silence.

“ _Now, then,_ ” Hisoka says, as if nothing happened, “ _which hotel are you staying at?_ ”

Gon quickly chooses the one he and Killua used all those years ago. “Why do you ask?”

“ _Because I’m coming to visit you, obviously. You seem so offended, it’s the least I can do…_ right _?_ ”

“—Oh! Okay, come at seven, then!” Gon tries not to sound _too_ self-satisfied; he’s an adult now, and he’s supposed to be less obvious about his selfish streak. _But it’s not like Hisoka doesn’t know about that side of me…_

“ _Gladly. Until then…_ ” Hisoka chuckles and hangs up.

Already, it feels like Gon’s waiting an eternity.

\---

After Gon obtains his room key, he tells the receptionist to call his room when Hisoka gets here. _Maybe I’ll take a nap until then. It’s been a long day—probably because of all the walking!_

Gon trudges down the cream-yellow halls and rows of sturdy oak doors until he reaches his room. He’s dimly aware of the dull ache in his feet, but he’s more aware of the sleepy fog in his mind.

His yawn overpowers the soft _creak_ of the door to his room as he pushes it open. He’s pleasantly surprised to see that aside from a leather sofa near the first bed, the setup of the room hasn’t changed: at the moment, he needs a little “rustic simplicity” as Bisky would say.

He collapses onto the nearest bed without bothering to take off his clothes.

\--

Gon awakens from a fitful sleep when an obnoxious _brrrring_ filters through his foggy brain. _Wha…is it time already?_ A quick glance out the window shows him he had a longer nap than expected. _But I don’t feel rested._

He fumbles for the phone on the nightstand, picking it up after narrowly avoiding knocking it over. “’Lo, this is Gon,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“ _Mr. Hisoka is here, sir. Should I bring him to your room?_ ” The receptionist sounds as cheerful as before—that could be a good thing or a bad thing. This is Yorknew, after all.

“Please do!” Gon forces himself awake; it won’t take long for Hisoka to get here.

After he hangs up, he lurches to his feet, running his fingers through his hair. _I don’t_ think _it’s greasy or tangled. I need to wash my face, though—my eyelashes are still sticky!_

Once his face is cleaned to his satisfaction with a soft washcloth and warm water, he feels ready to greet his guest. As if right on cue, he hears a soft _tapping_ sound like nails on wood.

“I’ll be right there!”

Through the floorboards beneath his feet, he can feel the receptionist walking back down the hall. Gon decides he’ll thank them later. _Maybe I already did, when I was waking up? Oh, well, I’ll say it again anyway!_ He ambles to the door, humming under his breath.

Gon opens the door a crack—he knows its Hisoka on the other side, but that’s all the more reason to be cautious.

“Sorry to keep you waiting… _augh_!”

It’s not the bouquet of flowers that makes Gon cry out in surprise, it’s that the hand holding said bouquet is swollen with bruises. Gon carefully checks Hisoka’s fingers, to ensure they haven’t just been “straightened” by practice and force of will. _Well, they_ look _intact, that’s something._

“Oh dear, what a sad reaction!” Hisoka makes a moue of disappointment; the black eye looks particularly ghoulish now. Having his hair down makes it worse. “Is there something on my face?”

Gon doesn’t bother replying. He grabs Hisoka by the arm and hauls him inside, managing to close the door softly. Concern boils inside his chest.

He unhands Hisoka and stares at the black eye again, trying to place how recent it is. _Why does that matter? He’s dealt with worse!_

“You’re remarkably quiet tonight,” Hisoka says, his tone light as air.

“You just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Really? I’m honored…”

Gon places the bouquet on the nightstand, well aware that Hisoka’s curious to see how Gon treats his gifts. They feel like paper, carefully crafted down to the petals. The only thing that’s missing is the veins.

Hisoka gives him a look of uneasy puzzlement. “Don’t make that face,” he says, as he sits on the brown leather sofa. “You’re acting as if I’m at death’s door! It’s only a few bumps and scrapes, that’s all.”

Gon surveys Hisoka’s body carefully in response. He’s not wearing his usual fighting attire, for some reason. Instead he’s wearing a red sweater, black trousers and—much to Gon’s surprise—his stilettos from Heaven’s Arena. Somehow, that only makes his injuries look worse: it implies he was unprepared for his attackers, whoever they were.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, and begins rummaging through his backpack for his first-aid kit.

“Does it matter? I killed them.” Hisoka’s languid tone belies a hint of testiness. “I could’ve sworn I proved my strength to you all those years ago. Are you becoming forgetful in your ‘old age’, Gon?”

“No, but _you’re_ getting older.”

“That doesn’t matter much to a _Nen_ practitioner. Save your fretting for those important to you.”

Gon pauses in the middle of lifting the first-aid kit out of the depths of his bag. He slowly turns to stare at Hisoka, who looks utterly bored with his cheek resting in his hand and his legs crossed at the ankles.

“You’re important,” Gon says without thinking, and unlatches the first-aid kit with a _click._ “Now, like Leorio says: on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

“Mm…one.” Hisoka stretches—then his brows furrow slightly. “Perhaps two, in my feet.”

“I can see why, those stilettos must hurt!” Gon manages a smile and walks back over to Hisoka with the kit held carefully in his hands. “I’ll put some of Leorio’s salve on them, then…”

As soon as he says it, though, he realizes this gives Hisoka a prime opportunity to kick him in the face—or worse. He flashes a glance at Hisoka and frowns at the angelic smile he receives in return.

“Why would a patient harm his masseuse, hmm?” Hisoka picks up one of the pillows on the bed and lays it on the floor at his feet.

_…How weirdly gentle of you._

Gon sighs in relief and slowly, carefully kneels down on the pillow. Once he’s certain Hisoka won’t attack him, he lets himself drop the rest of the way. He shifts his weight as he rests, the plush cotton bulging and sinking like a living thing as he moves. He feels Hisoka’s amusedly curious gaze on him, and a rare moment of self-consciousness flashes through his chest before vanishing.

He reaches out for Hisoka’s leisurely-bouncing foot, the one crossed on top, and curls his hand around the upper heel. He’s surprised at the lack of dirt on the sole, and wonders if Bungee Gum is the cause. _Probably not._ He tugs slowly and feels the stiletto give way.

A soft noise escapes Hisoka’s lips, but he doesn’t seem like he wants Gon to stop, so Gon keeps going.

“I hope my call didn’t interrupt your fight,” he says, as he continues easing the stiletto off Hisoka’s foot.

“Not at all. It was a welcome relief!”

“That’s good. Okay, off it comes—!”

The stiletto slides free the rest of the way, and Gon places it carefully on the floor. The black sock is next, slipping slowly down to reveal pale, supple skin—a strange contrast between cool cotton and warm, smooth flesh.

He stares at the unmarred top of Hisoka’s foot, noting how his toes are slightly swollen from being incased in such a tight space, before moving on; the sole is where the pain surely lies.

When he slides his hand over the curve of Hisoka’s ankle and lifts the foot to rest on his knee, he feels Hisoka’s pulse begin to thrum beneath his fingers.

He looks up with hooded eyes and a smile he can’t contain. “Is something wrong?”

“No—continue whenever you wish.” Hisoka’s foot rocks from side to side. “Though I’m sure my feet smell _horrible_ , considering the circumstances! Want a whiff?”

Gon laughs and shields his nose with a hand as Hisoka’s foot rises to his face. “Pfft, hey, put it back down!”

Hisoka wiggles his toes playfully against Gon’s palm, leaving tingling sensations in their wake.

Gon counters by grabbing Hisoka’s foot by the ankle and gently but forcibly rests it near his lap again. “You’re supposed to be _relaxing_ , remember? Don’t get distracted!”

Hisoka lets out a long, dismal sigh, as if he can’t believe Gon’s actually staying focused. Gon doesn’t take the bait.

“Thank you.” Gon inspects Hisoka’s sole and frowns at the pinkish-red swelling he finds. “Okay, this calls for oil…this could be lukewarm, just to warn you…”

He takes a vial of golden-hued salve out of the first aid kit and unscrews the white plastic cap. Using the tiny brush attached to the cap, he dips it in the salve and begins dabbing at the swelling, using slow and steady brush strokes.

Muffled noise from above him gives him pause. He watches Hisoka cover his mouth with a hand, his eyes as yellow as the salve curled up in amusement.

“Does it tickle? Sorry!” Gon puts a little more force into his brush.

There’s a long period of silence. Gon feels Hisoka’s body slowly uncoil from its tense state, and watches those long lashes flutter closed. He settles into a rhythm, alternating between dabbing the salve into Hisoka’s skin or massaging those parts of the foot that feel tense with strain.

Gon manages to move on to the other foot without his aching knees bothering him, and feels satisfied with his work as Hisoka practically melts into the chair. _I almost don’t want to say anything—but I’m sure his hands still hurt! I’m on a roll, why stop now?_

Hisoka slowly opens one eye, looking at Gon as if he sensed his thoughts. “Well done. You gave Illumi a run for his money!”

“Thanks—wait. Illumi does massages?” _He’d give patrons nightmares!_

“Acupuncture, actually.” Hisoka sits up and stretches, his entire body rippling like one long wave. “Speaking of which—now it’s _your_ turn to get a massage.”

Gon can’t deny that it sounds tempting, but… “I don’t need one.”

Hisoka’s cheerful expression freezes over. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, see?” Gon changes positions, sprawling out his legs so that his knees can rest. “I just had to do this, that’s all.”

“Oh, I never suspected you of lying! But your darling Killua seems to have rubbed off on you.”

Gon mentally sidesteps the double entendre. “If you’re saying I’m not usually nice to my friends, then you’re _definitely_ wrong. Everybody’s so busy and strong, they always say they can take care of themselves.” Gon points an accusing finger at Hisoka. “And you’re the worst of them all!”

“The worst, really? How unexpected! I thought that would be Kurapika’s problem.”

 _It is._ Gon flashes on Kurapika’s enraged scarlet eyes, how his phone number seems perpetually unavailable; he quickly shoves the weighty sadness aside.

“You always seem so far ahead of me—and that fight at Heaven’s Arena, that proved you were only playing with me before.” Gon finds his hands slowly clenching into fists. “But then…I saw you injured, _really_ injured, and for the first time I wanted to help you, repay you for what you've done for me. And I don't like owing anybody.”

He stares up at Hisoka and hopes that his words hit home, that he can reach beyond that bemused look and see that rare, honest smile again.

“So please—just this once—let me help you!”

There’s a tense pause before Hisoka settles back into the chair. “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.”

Gon’s chest seems to glow with warmth, and a smile lights up his face. “Good!”

He’s just about to move on to Hisoka’s hands when Hisoka suddenly says: “Still, you’ve been doing all the work—all the gentle touches and tender care. Would you like a trade of sorts?”

“You just want to touch me.”

“I have no intentions of hurting you. After all, you’ve been surprisingly kind…and I never expected you would actually _come_ here. Consider this my apology for standing you up!”

“Wait—why didn’t you think I would come?”

Hisoka shrugs one shoulder in a fluid ripple. “No one else did before, unless it was business-related. You learn not to expect much from people.”

“That sounds horrible!” His words come out in a rush of honest heat. “I wouldn’t do that—well, if I was in the hospital that’d be difficult. But I’d at least call you!”

“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth…if I had your spirit when I was young, I wonder how long I would’ve lived?”

“Ha! You’d survive, like you always do.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Well, then, do you accept my apology?”

Gon stares at Hisoka’s bruised hands with a bitter feeling. “Are you _sure_ they feel okay? If so, then I’ll accept.”

“Yes, yes, don’t _worry_ so much!" Hisoka bends forward, his hair catching the orange glow of the lamplight. "You truly have taken after Killua in your old age. But that’s charming in its own right…”

With an indulgent smile, Hisoka reaches out and cups Gon’s cheek.

He freezes at the gentle touch, the way Hisoka’s nails lightly graze his scalp and toy with the string of his eye patch.

“Speaking of limbs,” Hisoka murmurs, his eyes half-lidded and bright with something unknown, “You have a remarkable knack for losing body parts yourself. And yet you never called _me_ for help, did you? Even after I specifically said you could.”

A chill skitters up Gon’s spine—but not out of fear. “That was at Greed Island, this is different.”

“Not really. Ah, but you’ve always been a proud one…perhaps I should have expected you wouldn’t ask.”

Hisoka shifts his hand from Gon’s cheek to his scalp, and begins to rub the pads of his fingers against the sensitive skin. The rhythm is similar to what Gon used on his feet, but softer: soft pressure, then release then pressure again.

Hisoka’s throat bobs as he hums thoughtfully.

A tingling sensation begins to build—Gon’s never felt this before, and his hands curl and uncurl nervously. _There’s no bloodlust coming from Hisoka, but it still feels strange, having him touch me so gently. I suppose he really_ does _want to apologize._

“How does it feel, Gon?”

That dulcet purr combined with the tingling touch makes Gon’s lips part. His head prickles, from the top to where his scalp meets his neck. Killua once described Bisky’s massages as “it’s like I’m turning stupid”, and that’s _exactly_ how Gon feels right now. _But it’s not unpleasant…_

“Feels good,” he manages, letting his chin sink into his chest to give Hisoka more room. “Never felt this before…is it supposed to feel like sparks are in my head?”

“That’s the plan!” Hisoka lowers his voice to a husky murmur. “Say, I have an idea. You and I have both been traveling alone, right?”

“That's ri— _oh!_ ” Gon shivers as Hisoka’s fingers lightly stroke the shell of his ear.

"Oops, sorry. I'll stay away from there; is this better?"

“Yes. Are you…” He tries to find the rest of his thought; it scatters like frightened birds.

“I’m not trying to trick you.” Hisoka’s hot breath gusts by Gon's ear, making him jolt. “I simply have a suggestion: we could both use a traveling companion, and I want to see more of that strength of yours.”

Gon mulls the idea over—it’s surprisingly easy to do, despite the delicious, tingling numbness that’s slowly spreading down his neck. A soft, pleased sound escapes his throat, and Hisoka echoes it.

“Oh, Gon, what lovely expressions you make…”

His cheeks heat with a combination of embarrassment and pride. He finds enough strength in him to scowl at such blatant flattery, before choosing the wallow in the continuing massage.

“What _else_ do you gain from traveling with me?” Somehow, he manages to form a complete sentence.

“The pleasure of your company, obviously!” Hisoka’s nails tickle Gon’s neck, before his fingertips resume their gliding pressure. “Oh, and the opportunity to bodyguard you every so often. I can’t help but notice your aura isn’t as strong today. Is it because of that Ant business?”

Gon’s body tenses then reluctantly relaxes again. “…Sort of. My _Nen_ comes and goes—as if my body doesn’t want me to overexert myself. So annoying…!”

“Indeed, indeed. What a shame…” Hisoka clicks his tongue; the sound is strange in Gon’s current state. “But that’s considerably better than you being dead! You’ll just need to rely on your wits now and again, the way that you used to…or you could rely on me, the way you are right now.”

“…Mm, that’s right…”

Hisoka chuckles deep in this throat, and Gon’s mouth grows dry.

“It’s not so bad, is it Gon? Those building, calming sparks dancing down your head, as your brain recognizes the rhythm and embraces it…the sensation grows, more and more, pooling at the base of your neck, as the day’s worries begin to drift away…”

Gon nods in acknowledgement, entranced by the languid, sensual rhythm of Hisoka’s words and touch. His body is beginning to quiver, and his neck lolls from side to side, trying to alleviate the rising sensations yet not wanting them to stop, either.

“Do you want me to use both hands, now? It’ll feel even better…”

Gon grins. When Hisoka’s other hand joins in, he can’t help but lean into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

“Ah, is it almost time? Yes, I can see it in your eyes, half-lidded and hazy. Think of champagne bubbles rising through your mind, or coming down from the rush of battle. I suspect you worked hard today—you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to this, otherwise. Yes, that’s it, lean into my touch…there’s no need to force yourself awake, we can have fun tomorrow…”

It hits Gon in a rush. A delicious series of cool shivers rolls across his head and neck, over and over, washing away the day’s stresses. His mind floats aimlessly, serenely. The sensation doesn’t feel sexual at all—surprising, considering the cause—instead it’s an intimacy he hasn’t encountered in a long, long time.

Hisoka grins and cups Gon’s face in his hands. “Feel better?”

He nods, still trembling a little—what remains is meditative bliss, as if he’s back home and ready to go to bed. “Thank you, Hisoka…!”

“Now _there’s_ a rare sentence. It was my pleasure.”

He’s dimly aware that pink tendrils of Bungee Gum are curling around him, about to pick him up.

“Do you want to rest on the chair, or the bed?”

“Bed—the chair’ll make me stiff in the morning. You can sleep in the other bed, if you want.” Gon points at Hisoka with an arm that feels boneless. “Don’t touch me while I'm asleep!”

Hisoka chuckles, and the Bungee Gum lifts Gon into bed. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it. That would ruin my hard work!”  

The cotton sheets envelop Gon in cool softness, and he sprawls out without a care. Just before he lets sleep overtake him, he mumbles “If you do that massage from time to time…I’ll let you travel with me. Does that sound fair?”

“Oh, yes. Of course, we should leave negotiations for tomorrow, when we’re both rested.” Hisoka turns off the light, leaving his form in shadow. “Good night, Gon.”

Gon remembers that he wanted to know who attacked Hisoka—just as his eye closes as quickly as a trapdoor. His dreams are filled with bizarre retellings of Hisoka’s ill-fated fight in Heaven’s Arena, and of Gon struggling to reach him through the crowd in an endless loop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon finally has something to teach Hisoka, but strange presences keep threatening to ruin the mood. And in Yorknew, all kinds of unexpected faces show up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo-hoo, it's finally here! Thank you all for being patient, and your supportive comments~. I'll try to get the next chapter out in a more timely manner. On the plus side, it's going faster than this one did! Probably because this chapter is the set-up. :D

Gon shields his eyes as the morning sun filters in from the white curtains, leaving bright blades of light on the comforter. For a moment, he can’t recall what happened last night—but then Hisoka’s surprisingly gentle gestures return to him.

He rifles through his memories, searching for hidden meanings or outright lies; with Hisoka he can’t be too careful. _He probably wanted to distract me from asking about his injuries again. Why, though? It’s not like I’m going to go back in time and get revenge…though that would be useful!_ Gon sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at a rabbit-shaped crack in the stark-white ceiling. _If I remember right, Hisoka said he killed them anyway, so there’s no point in worrying._

And yet, unease oozes through his body like grime. It takes him a long series of mental assurances to shake the feeling off—that Hisoka didn’t seem worried last night helps.

Head successfully cleared, Gon eases into a sitting position, with his hands between his knees. He looks around for Hisoka—and finds that he isn’t here. But Gon can sense him close by, which means a phone call is in order.

After hitting redial on his phone, he waits only a moment before Hisoka picks up.

“Good morning,” Gon says sleepily.

“ _And a good morning to_ you _,_ ” Hisoka purrs, sounding wide-awake. “ _I was just admiring the view. I’ll be right there._ ”

“Okay…” Gon yawns.

Hisoka slips through Gon’s open window in a flash—it looks like he was sitting on the roof. Hisoka is wearing the hotel’s white and blue striped pajamas, his hair in cotton-candy disarray and his black eye slowly fading.

Hisoka sprawls out on the bed opposite Gon’s and glances his way, his lips curled into a surprised smile. “You’re awake a little earlier than I expected!”

“Am I?” Gon looks at the clock—eight o’clock on the dot. “Oh. Not really.” He stretches and yawns, the pleasant strain reverberating throughout his body.

“Well, at least I didn’t interrupt your beauty sleep.” Hisoka yawns in return, politely covering his mouth with his hand.

“Huh—you do that when you laugh, too. Why?”

“Oh, it’s force of habit. My mother taught me to be polite, and I’ve found her advice indispensible over the years. But…it seems people find my good manners unnerving. Even Illumi, high-class assassin that he is, doesn’t seem to trust me. Oh, well…”

Gon looks down at the bed in thought. “Sometimes your voice is unnerving. But I’ve grown used to it.” He runs his fingers through his hair, remembering Hisoka’s massage with an incomprehensible pang of emotion. “You spoke so gently yesterday, I was surprised! But that’s to be expected—you want to keep me alive, so you’ll be kind from time to time.”

Hisoka sighs fondly, and Gon turns his gaze toward him. He’s rolled over onto his side, resting his chin in his hand; Gon notes that the bottom of Hisoka’s pajama shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the tapered slope of a hipbone and a hint of black briefs. Even though he’s seen Hisoka naked before, it’s still…intriguing.

“Nothing escapes your notice, does it Gon?”

Gon grins with pride. “I’d be a bad Hunter otherwise! But you’re even better at noticing things I wish you didn’t.”

“Such as…?”

“That I was tired last night, for one thing; but the massage felt nice, so I’ll let that slide.”

Hisoka chuckles. “I appreciate your mercy.” His eyes glaze over, and a more familiar, mischievous smile slides onto his lips. “But not as much as your relaxed face. It’s almost as appealing as your eyes before a battle; I hope to see more of it…”

“…Never mind, then.”

Hisoka’s smile hints at teeth, and not in a pleasant way. “I’m just trying to be _kind_. But then you’ve never been the type to accept compliments, despite handing them out like candy.”

“I don’t need compliments, I know what I’m good at.”

Hisoka’s expression grows placid with boredom and slight annoyance—which Gon opts to ignore for once.

Gon drapes his arm across his knee. “And _you_ probably wouldn’t take a compliment from me, either—for the same reason.”

“Oh, but I _would_ ,” Hisoka purrs, and the sound tickles the hairs on Gon’s neck. “A magician is nothing without an audience…”

Gon pauses to consider the phrase then shrugs. “Huh, that makes sense.” He can’t think of a proper response right now, so he makes a resolution to himself: _I’ll give him a compliment when he least expects it;_ then _we’ll see who’s flustered!_

He quickly changes the subject, in case Hisoka catches on to his plan. _He will eventually, but the longer I can keep him off the scent, the better._

“You wanted to hash out traveling arrangements today, so: anything I should know?”

“I’m shyer than I look,” Hisoka says, his tone somewhere between genuine and sarcastic. The coy sweep of his eyes glancing from the floor to Gon doesn’t make his words any clearer.

“ _How_? When Bisky, Killua and I caught you bathing—”

“—You posed no threat to me. You still don’t. Hmm…I also prefer to travel by airship; that way I don’t need to subject you to my terrible cooking.”

“Good point—mine’s not any better, unless you want cake every day! Airships cost money, but we should have enough if we pool our savings together.”

“And we can visit Heaven’s Arena if push comes to shove,” Hisoka adds, smiling at the idea. “Or we could go if boredom strikes.”

“That would be fun…” Gon wonders if Hisoka’s thinking fondly of Heaven’s Arena the same way he is.

Outside, Yorknew is waking up with the faint _rumble_ of cars and the racket of businesses opening up shop. Even from this distance, it feels like the city is always thrumming with life. It’s a place suffused with sound, never sparing a thought to silence.

The savory scent of eggs frying wafts in through the window. It reminds Gon that they haven’t even had breakfast yet, and his attention travels to his empty, longing stomach.

Hisoka slides out of his reverie, his eyes focusing on the bathroom. “Who should shower first?”

“I will,” Gon replies, unable to hold back another yawn.

After digging through his backpack, he finds a pair of black pants and a rich green t-shirt—if there’s a chill in the air outside, he’ll manage. Scooping up his clothes, he strolls over to the bathroom, pleased that he gets to use the hot water first.

He doesn’t forget to lock the door behind him, despite Hisoka’s casual attitude.

\---

Gon sighs with relief as the warm water caresses his skin and clears his head. While he wants to linger in the pleasant sensations, he knows he can’t—that penalty at Trick Tower taught him a lot about sharing small, confined spaces with others.

He scrubs his face and comes in contact with his scarred eye. The tingling numbness around the edges still unnerves him. He’s always been good at “compartmentalizing trauma”, as Leorio puts it, but touching that eye or having someone look at it makes him feel… _uncomfortable_.

The knob _squeaks_ as he turns it off, prepared for the brisk chill that follows. As he opens the shower’s glass door with a _rattle_ , the air meets his flushed skin and cools the hot droplets that still cling to him. It’s a strange sensation after bathing in rivers and lakes for months.

Gon quickly towels himself off and gets dressed, ignoring the way his clothes cling to his not-quite-dry skin. As usual, he doesn’t bother blow-drying his hair—it acts on its own accord, just like him.

Just as he’s about to put his beetle phone in his pocket, it _beeps_ at him. He turns it on and sees that it’s an email from someone he doesn’t recognize—but it hasn’t been flagged as spam, so it may be safe. He runs the built in anti-virus program just in case, and finds nothing amiss.

His mind abuzz with curiosity, he opens the email.

There’s no text, only an attachment: a picture of a basement stairway, dimly illuminated by a hanging overhead light. _Weird. Maybe they meant to send this to someone else?_ Still, something about the dusty wooden stairs tickles his memory, so he keeps the email and puts his phone in his pants pocket.

“I’m done, Hisoka!”

Gon opens the door just in time to see Hisoka standing before a row of folded clothes on the bed, surveying each one like an art collector. They look ordinary to Gon—shirts, sweaters, pants and socks in a rainbow of colors—but it seems Hisoka doesn’t see them that way.

Hisoka turns his head to look at Gon, giving him a quick once-over. He grins in approval. “You look different with your hair down—it enhances your eye!”

“No, it gets in the way.” Gon pushes his bangs up, to be able to see better and make sure his eye patch is on properly—it is. “I just noticed you don’t have your usual clothes with you. Why’s that?”

“Hmm? Oh, I do. But those are meant for my hobby.” Hisoka smiles, and the tip of his tongue licks his lips. “Do you want me to wear them?”

Gon mulls the idea over. “No thanks. You took out these clothes for a reason, so you obviously don’t want to fight today!”

Hisoka’s expression shifts subtly—his eyebrows rise a little, and his lips begin to part in surprise before closing in another calm smile—and Gon nearly misses it.

Then Hisoka’s next words cause him to file the moment away for later:

“Thank you. I’ll give you a treat, then.” He gestures to the clothes. “If you want, you can help me choose what to wear.”

At first, Gon thinks he’s joking, and a smile creeps onto his face. Then he looks at Hisoka’s eyes, how they’re bright with a mixture of mischief and something more primal, and reconsiders.

“…Oh, I get it! You want to be lazy.”

Hisoka stares blankly at Gon for a moment before his shoulders shake with silent laughter. The sun’s glow shivers on his skin, casting him half in light, half in shadow. It’s a fascinating sight—and not just because Gon caused it.

Hisoka’s laughter subsides as quickly as it started. “Well, I should have expected that reaction! That’s not _quite_ it. I want to see how you handle power—even if it’s small-scale.”

“…You’re in a weirder mood today than usual. Did you get hit in the head last night?” Gon descends on him, determined _this_ time to put his First-Aid kit to good use. “Let me get—”

“—There’s no need for that,” Hisoka replies, a rippling wave of Bungee Gum around his hand forcing Gon to rock back, one foot after the other. “I would have told you if I had a concussion; your worried face is too sweet not to…”

“You’re contradicting yourself again.” Gon rolls his eye—sure, he expected that reaction, but he’s convinced there’s more to what’s been said.

After thinking on it for a while longer, Gon decides a treat’s a treat. After inspecting the pile of clothes again, he chooses a grape-purple long sleeved shirt, and blood-red trousers with matching socks. _These should be flashy enough for him!_ Apparently all Hisoka has for shoes are his stilettos; they’ll have to do.

Judging by Hisoka’s reaction, he’d hoped to put on more of a fashion show, but Gon’s too hungry to bother. _I’ll make it up to him later._

“You chose the most durable of the bunch,” Hisoka says, scooping up the chosen clothes and looking at Gon shrewdly. “How interesting…”

“I thought of something I can teach you—you’re going to need clothes that won’t get ruined!”

Hisoka nods agreeably, as if he already suspects Gon’s suggestion. It’s a little annoying, being so easy to read.

_Better get to the point, then!_

“I’ll teach you how to fish, since you seemed interested before,” Gon says. “Do you know somewhere we can go?”

Hisoka smiles and ambles over to the bathroom, ducking his head to get through the door. “I know _just_ the place.”

\---

Gon tries not to crowd Hisoka as they stroll through the Yorknew Water Garden. The white clay walls tower into the sky, and the rest is miles of glorious, green plants, burbling water and elegant walkways of gravel mixed with pink marble flagstones. Sweet scents of honeysuckle and lavender float around them, beckoning them onward.

“Even _Killua’s_ family doesn’t have a place like this!” Gon holds out his arms, wanting to embrace this amazing paradise.

“Hence why I chose it,” Hisoka says, clearly enjoying Gon’s enthusiasm.

The centerpiece is a huge marble fountain with lily pads on the crystal-clear water, and blood-red carp lurking beneath them. Aqueducts branch from the fountain’s sides like tree roots—according to the glossy brochure there are smaller pools for bathing and fishing.

Gon catches a glimmer of scales out of the corner of his eye, and smiles as a girl by the fountain’s edge lets out an excited squeak.

“It’s okay if you don’t find fishing fun in the end, Hisoka, but I hope you’ll give it a try!”

Hisoka’s chuckle makes Gon’s attention swivel back to him. “I’ll be an attentive student.”

Gon can’t help but puff up in self-importance. “I’ll do my best!”

His neck prickles, and he whips his head around—someone’s staring at him. Or is it two people? The stare feels a little… _strange_ , somewhere between detached and bloodthirsty. He probes the crowd with his _Nen_ , but finds nothing amiss: only a little boy telling his mother how cool “those guys over there” look, while pointing in their direction.

_Still, it felt like…oh well._

When they arrive at the small, private fishing pool—palm trees sway invitingly in a ring around the area, their leaves gleaming in the sun—he’s a little disappointed to see that they’re only allowed to use the Water Garden’s fishing poles. They have dulled, one-pronged hooks, and reels that you turn with a metal crank; it’s a little “new-fangled” for Gon’s taste, but perhaps that’s a good thing. He and Hisoka will be on slightly more equal footing this way. _Still, it’s annoying that I brought my backpack for nothing!_

Hisoka chooses a fishing pole with a pink floating lure, his eyes narrowing speculatively. “These are different from yours. What a pity! But then again, this could lessen the chances of dead fish in the water…”

“Yeah, they’re a huge draw—keeping the fish safe is good for their business and customers’ conscience.”

Gon finds a fishing pole as similar to his own as possible. He tests the reel, and quickly figures out how it works. The sticky plastic feels vaguely disgusting on his fingers, but he’ll survive.

“Okay, let’s go find a comfortable spot!”

They have their chosen pool all to themselves. Amusingly, there are lawn chairs to sit on, as if sitting on wet marble is a crime. Gon shrugs it aside as he takes a seat and prepares his line. _Fishing is fishing, no matter where you sit—that’s what Whale Islanders would say. And there’re holders in the armrests for when your arms need a break, that’s handy!_

“Now what?” Hisoka asks, as he twirls his fishing pole lightly between his fingers.

“First, we cast our lines—one at a time, so they don’t get tangled. You need to go slow, and make sure the hook doesn’t catch on you…”

It’s strange but exciting, being the teacher instead of the student. At first, he doubts he’s explaining everything well, but Hisoka listens intently, and follows instructions better than expected. It’s as if Gon is a priceless painting, and Hisoka is the art collector who’s studying his every brush stroke. The world around them fades into background noise, save for the faint _splash_ of leaping carp or the call of birds.

Even talking about fishing calms Gon’s heart, letting the rhythm and tranquility seep through him and hopefully to Hisoka.

They cast their lines, Gon first, Hisoka second, watching them land on the water with a _plip._ Their lures bob leisurely in the water, unmistakably manmade in a forest of bright green lily pads, their white flowers glowing in the sun.

“And now we wait,” Hisoka says, his fingers curled elegantly around the padded handle of his fishing pole.

Gon grins. “Think you can be patient?”

Hisoka raises an eyebrow. “I certainly can. You of all people should have more faith in me!”

“I don’t think punching a kid in the face counts as ‘being patient’. _Tenderizing_ them, maybe.”

“You have entirely the wrong metaphor. I was _cultivating_ you.”

“That sounds even worse—I’m not a plant!”

Gon’s beetle phone vibrates, interrupting their debate. Gon places his pole in the holder and pulls his phone out of his pants pocket. Warmth stretches across his chest—this time, it’s an email from Killua.

_Hey, Gon! Alluka and I met this little guy today. Thought you’d like him! –Killua_

The picture attached shows Killua and Alluka standing in front of a giant flying fox bat—which seems to be stealing their bananas while they’re busy posing. The bat’s gray-red wings are folded, but Gon can tell they’d be as long as Hisoka and Killua are tall.

_He looks great, Killua—and so do you! Your big sunglasses make you look like a celebrity. Oh, and Alluka looks pretty in that pink dress, a little like Bisky! ~_^ –Gon_

_Hey, don’t compare Alluka to the old hag. /jk, don’t tell her I said that! Anyway, how are you? –Killua_

A shadow falls over Gon’s phone, chilling his back. He nearly bumps heads with Hisoka, who’s leaning over his shoulder with an amused look on his face.

“I thought so,” he murmurs. “What will you tell him, hmm?”

“The truth, obviously,” Gon replies, before reconsidering. “…But Killua might not like that. He doesn’t trust you—then again I don’t really either. So…!”

He carefully types out a reply, fully aware of Hisoka’s amusement.

_I’m fishing at the Yorknew Water Garden. It’s really cool! I haven’t caught anything yet, but that’s okay. -Gon_

He waits with tensed shoulders for Killua’s response, hoping that his longer reply isn’t taken as something suspicious. He doesn’t want Killua running off to “save” him, thus ruining his trip with Alluka for nothing.

Killua’s reply is complete gibberish—and the one after that is the same.

“…Huh?” Gon and Hisoka look at each other in simultaneous confusion.

Another message _pings_ into existence—this time from Alluka.

_Ms. Bat knocked Brother’s phone off the bridge! ;_; He’ll get back to you soon~ -Alluka_

Gon doesn’t know whether to laugh or cringe in sympathy. He sends a supportive message and turns off his phone.

“How _convenient_ ,” Hisoka says, sitting back in his chair with a sly smile. “It seems you’ll have to explain our relationship another time!”

“That’s fine. I don’t have an answer, anyway.” Gon picks up his fishing pole and tugs at it experimentally, watching the ripples splash against the lily pads.

“Hmm…perhaps that’s for the best. It would be boring if everything could be easily explained, don’t you agree?”

“Not _everything._ But I’d be pretty disappointed if I understood you completely. A magician’s best when he’s mysterious!”

“I can’t argue with that logic—oh?”

Hisoka’s line grows taut. The pole bows like a weary soldier to a king.

“Ah, I have something!”

Gon’s heart begins to pound. “Reel it in quick!”

Hisoka’s hand is a blur; the line _whirrs_ back toward them.

“You’re not going to help, Gon?”

“Why? This is your first catch!”

The carp tugs hard, nearly forcing the pole out of Hisoka’s hands. It’s strong, but he’s stronger.

The water froths and something begins to thrash to the surface.

“Just a little more—!” Gon’s pressed against Hisoka’s shoulder.

Hisoka’s shivers of excitement vibrate against and through Gon’s chest. The world contains only this moment. It feels like the hook’s caught Gon’s heart instead of the fish.

The world slows to a crawl as gleaming scales catch the sun—

“— _Oh_ ,” Hisoka whispers, as the huge bronze carp finally reaches them.

Gon can see why. The carp’s underbelly is white as milk, with a few ink-black or sky blue speckles on the sides decorating its vibrant orange scales. Its tail flows like a gown behind it, the sunlight illuminating the delicate, gauzy texture.

Hisoka laughs and shields his face with his free hand as the carp flails angrily, speckling him with droplets. His pride is visible even in the shade of his elegant fingers. It’s such an unguarded expression that it stops Gon in his tracks, and all he can do is stare.

…Until he remembers that the carp needs to be unhooked, and soon, before it dies senselessly. He quickly explains to Hisoka what to do, keeping an eye on the carp’s desperate struggling.

“Don’t worry, Gon, I’ll be gentle.”

Gon doesn’t believe Hisoka until he watches those deadly fingers delicately slip the hook free from the carp’s gasping mouth without a scratch. After asking Gon to take a picture, he places the carp back in the water equally gently, and they watch those vibrant scales vanish into the pool’s depths with barely a ripple.

Hisoka’s chest rises and falls in a short exhale. “I think I see fishing’s appeal, Gon…”

As the sun slips behind a patch of clouds, Gon takes in Hisoka’s body winding down from the adrenaline rush: the slow shift from fast to slow, steady breaths, the way tension slides off his shoulders, and how the earlier tremble fades from his hands. The red on his palms from clutching the fishing pole’s grip vanishes like smoke, leaving behind skin like frozen cream decorated with fading bruises.

Gon finds himself reaching out, fingertips brushing against Hisoka’s knuckles. He catches a hint of rolling ridges of bone before snatching his hand away. His heartbeat hasn’t slowed yet.

“What was that about?” Hisoka asks, his mouth quirked in puzzlement that may or may not be genuine.

“I don’t know. I’m _serious_ , don’t look at me like that!”

“Hmm, it appears you are…oh well.”

With that, they return their attentions to the pool’s expectant stillness.

\---

It soon seems luck isn’t on their side anymore—not that it matters in the end. Hisoka catches a series of lily pads, and Gon a carp strong enough to nearly yank him into the water (which escapes just as he starts reeling it in). In the quiet lulls, they soak in each other’s company, sitting in a cocoon of silence that needs no conversation to be worthwhile.

It’s only later that Gon realizes Hisoka was using _Zetsu_ the whole time _._

Eventually they head back to the hotel, keeping pace with each other through the thick, sweaty press of the crowd. The pavement shivers slightly beneath Gon’s feet, under the weight of a thousand footsteps. It feels as if the ground will split open like a wound at any moment.

Gon doesn’t mind having Hisoka at his back, for once—he’s a lifeboat in the waves of people around them. _Not that he’d like me being reliant on him._

“Thank you for today’s lesson,” Hisoka says, his soft voice reaching Gon’s ears even through the relentless noise around them.

“Sure! I’m glad you had fun.”

The sensation of being watched returns. Gon still can’t sense the culprit—and stops searching when Hisoka has to nudge him out of the way of a harried-looking businessman.

“Here,” Hisoka says, slipping his arm around Gon’s shoulders. “This way we won’t lose each other in this mess.”

“Good idea.”

He takes the time to analyze how Hisoka’s hand feels on his arm. It’s not uncomfortable, or frightening, but it’s definitely different. Gon can feel the faint prickle of those sharp claws through his shirt, but not pressing deep enough to pierce the skin; his warmth slowly seeps into Hisoka’s cooler body, creating mutual heat that courses through Hisoka’s arm, resting lightly against Gon’s backpack. Their pace is almost mirrored; Gon is always one step behind.

As they walk, Gon discovers a pleasant benefit to Hisoka’s gesture: people seem to think of them as one unit and let them pass, compared to the struggle he had yesterday. _It’s probably Hisoka—even if you don’t know_ Nen _, there’s a dangerous feeling about him._ Gon idly probes Hisoka’s aura, noting the lackadaisical-yet-powerful wisps coming off him. They float around Gon, close yet distant, as if waiting for his permission.

“Go ahead.”

Hisoka smiles, and his _Nen_ slowly embraces Gon _._ It’s different from Leorio’s easygoing, soothing balm, or Killua’s cool, faintly electric air—the pink heat presses against him like a velvet blanket, slightly sticky but not leaving him immobile. Every so often Gon feels the aura morph into tendrils that play between his ankles, or tickle his arms, disappearing back into the shapeless mass whenever Gon grows uncomfortable—or wants a stronger touch.

They round a corner and enter a crumbling alleyway littered with garbage bags vomiting their contents onto the cracked pavement, and skeletal stray cats with haunted eyes scour the contents with pitiful mewls.

Gon’s heart aches at the sight, and he digs through his backpack. His hopes sink as his search for cat-friendly food comes up short. _That’s right, I used up those treats two days ago…_

“I’m sorry…” Gon can’t bring himself to look down at those desperate eyes trained on him.

“This should do,” Hisoka says, seemingly to himself.

“What— _whoa_!”

A small bag of cat snacks _poofs_ into being in Hisoka’s hand—another magic trick worth learning. As soon as the bag comes into view, the cats surround them in a flurry of knotted fur and pleading cries.

Hisoka’s gaze flicks to Gon, as if gauging his reaction. It makes sense—the only other creature Gon’s seen him be kind towards was a Hemotropic Butterfly that perched on his finger. And this time, Hisoka has a visible audience.

“Good,” Gon says, just to watch Hisoka’s pleased expression. It makes him feel strange—somewhere between strong and gentle.

Hisoka overturns the bag and lets the fish-shaped crackers tumble down into the throng.

Gon quickly steps out of the cats’ way as they enjoy their feast—while he’d love to adopt them all, he knows he doesn’t have the lifestyle for them. All he can do is call a local animal shelter and see if they can help—which he does, all the while keeping his senses peeled for any opportunistic muggers nearby.

The feast ends in a flash. Cats wander off to their respective hiding places, waddling to accommodate their full bellies. One simply flops onto its fluffy grey side, tiger-orange eyes narrowed in contentment.

After he finishes his call (the sanctuary will be coming soon, now that he’s described the location), he glances at Hisoka to see if he’s still watching the cats.

He’s met with a glazed-over expression that could mean anything and nothing, a familiar look to anyone unlucky enough to meet Hisoka in the wrong context. Hisoka’s _Nen_ flickers and distorts around them, not with killing intent but with something equally worrisome in its foreignness to Gon.

“…Hisoka…?”

Gon picks up something in the distance. It’s faint, but all-too-familiar. The aura puts him in mind of clammy, cold caverns deep in the earth, where eyeless things hunt for unsuspecting prey, their needle-sharp claws always ready to sink into flesh.

“Ah- _ha_ ,” Hisoka says, his lips curling into a more familiar smile.

Gon’s chest expands in a dark, angry burst of air, and his whole body prickles with a killing intent to match the growing aura.

“ _Illumi,_ ” he growls. His throat strains at the intensity.

“As usual, his timing is awful,” Hisoka says mildly. “Hey, Illumi, come out—you’re acting strange again!”

“Am I? You’re one to talk, Hisoka.”

Illumi strolls out of the shadows, his long ink-black hair swaying in the dusk breeze. He’s wearing purple today, too—but with the fancy jacket with huge lapels and gold needles everywhere, he looks like a rock star. The only normal thing about him is the black pants—and even that’s offset by the leather shoes, soundless on the pavement.

“You look good,” Hisoka says, placing his hands on his hips.

Illumi looks him over and cocks his head to one side, as if in thought. “Those stilettos look uncomfortable, as usual. Oh, well.”

“I see you’re trying to make up for being sole-less…”

 _…Hisoka…what kind of joke was_ that _?_

Gon glances warily between Hisoka and Illumi, aware that with these two anything could happen.

After the world’s most awkward pause, Illumi actually blinks. “No, I’m flat-footed.”

Hisoka puts a hand to his forehead and sighs dramatically. “Someday, you’ll understand my humor.”

 _For once, I’m with Illumi._ Gon gets back to business. “Hisoka, is he the one who attacked you last night?” He suspects the answer, but he wants to hear it straight out.

“Nope,” Hisoka and Illumi say in unison—though Illumi looks tepidly surprised at the question.

“I wasn’t ordered to kill him, and even if I was, he’s too useful to me to get rid of.”

Gon frowns at the implication, but he doesn’t bother to comment. “The people who’ve been tailing us, though—”

Illumi’s empty eyes stare at him for a moment. Then he snaps his fingers. “Oh, they aren’t my needlemen. It wouldn’t be strange if someone else had a similar ability, though.” He pulls out some needles with a series of metallic _clicks_ and holds them out to Gon. “Here, sense for yourself. Don’t worry, they aren’t activated.”

Revulsion roils in Gon’s stomach before he takes them. He inspects them carefully while Illumi and Hisoka chat—apparently Hisoka owed him money.

The needles aren’t metallic; they’re made of material Gon can’t identify beyond “cold and smooth”. The heads come in a myriad of shapes, from round to hooked tips, and none of them have a “feeling” similar to what he’s been sensing.

“You’re right,” Gon says, more than willing to hand the needles back, “They definitely aren’t the same. Sorry I doubted you!” _Not really._

“Oh, that’s understandable. I’m ‘weird’, apparently.” Illumi cups his hands as Gon returns the needles; he reverently stows them away again.

Once he’s finished, he looks at Gon as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, it’s you. No wonder you distrust me so much!” Something resembling a smile flickers across his face. “I like your eye-patch, it suits you.”

Gon instantly shifts to a defensive position. A growl rumbles in his throat.

“Don’t be mean, Illumi,” Hisoka says with ominous cheer, sidling up next to Gon and clasping his shoulder. It’s both intimate and meant to restrain. “Only I can tease him like that.”

Illumi turns his head to look at Hisoka then back at Gon, his expression placid again. “Are you two teaming up? It’s about time. Hmm…Hisoka, are you hunting Chrollo again? After that fight in Heaven’s Arena, I thought you’d learned your lesson.”

“I did. And it’s none of your business why we’re together. Why don’t you go reminisce about Killua? There’s a well-stocked bar down the next street with some _excellent_ whisky…”

Illumi’s hair sways in a passing breeze. “Hmm…that could be good, thank you. I’m celebrating another job well done, after all. But I have somebody who Killua calls ‘friend’ right here.”

Illumi’s eyes trail back to Gon, their dark depths betraying nothing. Yet they seem to be measuring and judging him…and find him barely noticeable.

“How’s my dear brother doing, anyway?”

“I don’t know where he is, but he’s doing great!” Gon says, putting on the broadest, teeth-baring grin he can. _And you’ll never see him again—not if I can help it!_

“…I see.”

Nodding his thanks—at least it _looks_ that way, it’s hard to tell—Illumi turns on his heel and strides silently into the shadows like he was never there.

“Bye,” Hisoka calls cheerily.

There’s a faint affirmative noise in the distance.

“Well, that rules him out,” Gon says to himself. “Too bad, Killua would be happy if he wasn’t around—I would be too!”

“But Illumi’s fun to play with,” Hisoka pouts and releases Gon’s shoulder. “True, he reacts like a pickled fish to my jokes, but a straight man’s useful from time to time.”

A sharp heat surges in Gon’s chest. “But—you’re so different!”

Hisoka looks at him out of the corner of his eye, his smile mischievous as it twists his lips. “You and Killua are, too, and that doesn’t stop you from being friends. Not that Illumi agrees with me—he’s made a hobby of denying his desires—but he _did_ spend awhile with us, which says a lot.” His smile grows wider. “And _we’re_ different, too, but look how well today went!”

The jagged heat begins to recede, much to Gon’s relief. But still—he feels one more thing has to be done. _Hisoka’s attention needs to go back where it belongs._

“Hey, Hisoka.” He positions himself so that they’re facing each other, their shadows overlapping on the alley walls. “Was today a date?”

Hisoka’s eyebrows rise for a moment, before lowering in understanding. His eyes remind Gon sharply of their fight at Heaven’s Arena, but with a hint of warmth in their cunning.

“As usual, you move too fast sometimes,” he says with a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his flame-like hair. “I had a wonderful day today, despite those presences and Illumi ruining your mood…but you have a history with him, so I don’t mind.”

Gon winces. “Ah, sorry! When it comes to romantic things, I’m usually better than that.” Now that he has Hisoka’s attention, that painful feeling’s lessened.

“Why apologize? Well, I’ll accept it anyway. Why don’t we have dinner?” Hisoka gestures toward an illuminated street in the distance, entwined with ivy. “Just over there is a little restaurant with private seating and _delicious_ food…”

Gon suddenly realizes how hungry he is. _That sounds great, but—_

“What about those presences? Do you recognize them?”

“Hmm? Oh, them. Why worry about it? Wouldn’t you rather enjoy a quiet meal in a busy town… _with me_?”

Gon’s body prickles pleasantly—Hisoka’s soft question is meant for him alone, just like Killua’s gentle glances from so long ago. He nods, though he’s sure his body language gave him away.

“Good,” Hisoka says, his voice barely above a whisper.

He runs splayed fingers down his shirt, and Gon can’t help but track them, from collar to waistline. His eyes linger on the way Hisoka’s fingers curl and tug at the fabric.

“You know, Gon, this shirt really makes these bruises… _pop_. See?” Hisoka’s hand stills, and Gon can see now that the purple shirt stands in dark contrast to the lighter bruises on his skin. “I knew you had an eye for beauty…”

“That’s coincidence.” Gon’s throat feels dry and thick. “But I’m glad you like it. Killua’s the clothes horse, not me!”

It occurs to him suddenly that this is the perfect time for his “compliment revenge” plan. The solution is obvious.

“Hisoka, your hands are beautiful!”

Anticipation crawls up his back as he waits for a response. He knows how to compliment girls on their looks, but aside from Killua, guys aren’t as easy. _And this is_ Hisoka _, so it’s even tougher! But—his hands keep drawing my attention, so I might as well say it, right?_

Hisoka digests his compliment. At first, he’s surprised. Then a knowing smile slips across his face, growing wider with each passing second. It’s somehow both wonderful and unnerving all at once, and a sure sign of the evening to come.

“Really, now?” Hisoka lifts his hand from his shirt and looks at it thoughtfully. “ _That_ makes dinner more interesting…”

Gon knows better than to ask why. What he knows for sure, as Hisoka strolls to the restaurant and glances over his shoulder at him invitingly, is that tonight won’t be boring.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka treats Gon to dinner and a "show"--but another mysterious email ruins their evening.

Hisoka pushes open Brimstone Avenue’s easily missed oak door and smiles at the familiar scent of tomato and basil that rush to greet him. _How nostalgic…_

Gon goes in first—judging by the pleased “Whoa” he makes, the cream-colored walls and artfully worn wood furnishings are a hit. Soft jazz filters in through the speakers above, lilting piano and sax moving in harmony and beckoning them away from the growing chill at their backs.

It’s as quiet as expected from a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. But there are enough diners around to keep Hisoka and Gon from attracting attention—which is preferred for his game to work. _Now that I know what you like, nothing’s keeping me from teasing you anymore. I hope you’re prepared…_

The restaurant is divided up into a main entrance and bar, with a brick fireplace _crackling_ merrily in the center, and small alcoves with red curtains to hide those inside from view. Brimstone Avenue’s no stranger to Hunters or criminals, just like the rest of Yorknew, which means business deals legitimate or not can be conducted here without a hassle.

It’s neither overly fancy nor overly modern, a choice match for those who want good food and service without feeling like they’re showing off their wealth.

The handsome waiter remembers Hisoka and his preferences, ushering him and Gon to the alcove far in the back with a view of the city’s harbor. Gon’s eye widens charmingly as the waiter pulls back the curtain and reveals the whicker chairs and the nut brown, lacquered table between them. It must be the setting sun that’s caught his attention, or perhaps the stained glass ceiling lamp that drenches the setting in gold and red.

“What do you think?” Hisoka asks, just so that he can show off more of Gon’s infectious enthusiasm.

Gon’s sincere smile makes the lamplight pale in comparison.

As they sit down—Gon on the left, Hisoka on the right—and take the offered menus, Hisoka watches with amusement as Gon compliments the waiter on the décor with merry sincerity.

The waiter takes it in stride. “Your water and orange juice will be here shortly,” he says serenely, and departs.

After the waiter’s out of earshot, Gon’s smile fades disappointingly quickly as he begins flicking through the menu.

“I feel underdressed…”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t take you to a place like that—it’s far too stuffy.” Hisoka grins as a memory resurfaces. “Do you want to know how to get thrown out of an upscale Yorknew restaurant?”

Gon’s lips twitch into a smile as he leans forward. “How?”

“You make doves fly out of the silver dish covers. I didn’t know tact back then, you see…”

“Did they escape?”

“Probably. I was too busy fighting the security guards. In those days, they seemed as strong as _Nen_ users; now, I’d just be bored.”

“Probably,” Gon says with a laugh. He glances down at the menu again, and his eye widens. “Wow, look at how much pasta dishes they have—and fish! It’s not that expensive, either.”

“I haven’t found better prices anywhere else around here. I know what I’m having—their shrimp scampi is a favorite of mine. And you?”

He quietly relishes the way Gon unconsciously licks his lips. He knows that it’s because Gon’s starving and has a host of options before him, but it’s a gesture ripe for fantasy.

Hisoka senses a waitress before she arrives, bearing their drinks and a smile. Predictably, Gon’s grin and greeting makes her smile wider as she asks them if they’re ready to order.

“What would you recommend, Ms. Sally?” As expected, Gon doesn’t seem to realize his own charm.

The waitress looks pleasantly surprised before she thinks it over. “Hmm…the portabella mushroom ravioli is delicious, in my opinion!”

Gon looks it up in the menu and nods in satisfaction. “I’ll have that then, thank you!”

Once Hisoka places his order and the waitress bustles away, he listens to Gon’s fishing stories with rapt attention. Not just because of today’s activities, but because seeing Gon overflow with knowledge and enthusiasm is a wonderful thing—particularly since he usually looks so distrustful. He doesn’t know how long this traveling partnership will last before he grows bored, so he’ll enjoy it while he can.

Just as Gon’s in the middle of explaining how to debone a fish, dinner arrives. Fortunately it’s worth the interruption, as delicious as Hisoka expected. The shrimp are savory-sweet on the tongue, and the sauce is creamy with a taste of butter and white wine—and the cook withheld the garlic just like he asked years ago. The waiter must have told them earlier.

“Oh, Hisoka,” Gon says between bites, “I forgot to tell you earlier—I got a weird email this morning!”

“Really? Well, it must not be _that_ weird if you just remembered.”

“Here, I’ll show you!”

Gon takes out his phone and presses a few buttons before handing it over to Hisoka.

Hisoka barely glances at the email address—it’s a throwaway, and he tells Gon so. It’s the image that has his attention, however: a picture of part of a mafia hideout.

“Oh—it’s where that dogfighting ring was!” Gon says, once Hisoka points this out. “I _knew_ it looked familiar somehow! But…” He frowns in consternation. “Why would I need a picture of this, then?”

“Who knows? Perhaps the sender was a reporter who accidentally sent the picture to you? Or it just looks like the place, but is actually somewhere else.”

Gon seemingly agrees, but it’s clear this business is still gnawing at him.

_Well, we can’t have that…_

Hisoka waits until their plates are nearly empty before beginning to tease Gon. He reaches out for his glass—but instead of picking it up, he glides a fingertip across the rim, admiring the faint _hum_ that comes with it. He’s careful to avoid scraping his nail against the glass; it wouldn’t do to hurt his prey’s sensitive ears.

Gon pauses, a forkful of ravioli slathered with tomato sauce inches from his mouth. His eye flicks over to Hisoka’s swirling finger, looking uncertain.

“You said my hands were beautiful earlier,” Hisoka says, moving his finger from the rim down the side of the glass. Cool perspiration slicks the pad. “Could you elaborate on that?”

There’s a pause as Gon visibly struggles to form words—but not for long. He places the fork down with a faint _clink_ , the sound seeming to calm his nerves _._

“I like your fingers specifically. They’re long and elegant, and the claws emphasize that for some reason. You move them so gracefully, and they can go from being rough to gentle…” Gon pauses and smiles wryly. “…And you have a mean swing even after all this time!”

Hisoka smiles and licks the perspiration off his finger with the tip of his tongue; a slight shiver runs down his spine at the wet heat. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you prefer a gentler touch for novelty’s sake.”

Gon nods, his lips slightly parted.

_Yes, this was_ definitely _worth the wait._ He turns his hand this way and that, letting his fingers dip into shadow and resurface into light.

Gon’s eye gains a familiar glow, and he slowly reaches out just like he did back at the Water Garden.

Hisoka chuckles and pulls his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah! No touching just yet.”

“But…!” Gon looks at him with such _longing_ , it’s enough to make him weak at the knees.

“ _Now_ who’s being impatient?”

“This is different, and you know it.”

“Am I going to have to restrain you?” A purr sneaks into Hisoka’s voice at the thought. “Mm…that sounds _fun_ …”

Heat ripples inside him at the mental image of Gon wrapped in Bungee Gum, flushed with exertion and pleasure. Oh, the way those tanned muscles would flex and tremble, and the unending fire in his eye…Gon has grown from a special boy to a special man, made for admiration.

Gon’s shoulders tense. “ _Don’t._ ”

“Oh, alright; I _do_ aim to please.”

“Really?”

“ _Ossu,_ ” Hisoka whispers.

Gon doesn’t seem to get it at first—then a disbelieving grin arrives on his lips. “You have a talent for making innocent things sound dirty. I don’t know whether to be impressed or not!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hisoka leisurely plucks the lemon slice from his glass and admires the way the yellow flesh gleams in the lamplight.

Gon seems to think that the teasing session’s finished, since he brings the discussion to who should pay for the meal. It’s charming—if a little annoying. But Hisoka doesn’t mind; it’s a welcome change of pace.

Then he feels something soft brush against his ankle. He nearly drops the lemon slice. _Wait a minute…is this…?_

Gon’s smile is a little _too_ innocent. “How about splitting the bill?”

“That sounds fair.”

A tickling sensation jolts through his leg as the soft motion grows stronger—it’s definitely Gon’s sock-covered foot. Hisoka can almost see it: the silent trepidation as it slipped free of Gon’s shoe, the way the leg muscles rippled and moved forward, the moment when Gon saw his opening…

“Gon, are you—?”

Gon chuckles.

_Ah—so it’s not that he doesn’t know his charms, but that he knows and doesn’t care._ That’s _the core appeal of Gon Freecs._

Hisoka smirks. “Well, I’m glad you aren’t lying back and taking it…”

As Gon eagerly continues his revenge, Hisoka decides on some payback of his own. Still holding the lemon slice in his hand, he nibbles on the flesh with the ease of someone who knows he has an audience and wants them to drink in the sight. He gives the lemon a small lick and lets out a soft moan at the sour taste on his lips.

Gon freezes, ensnared by him again.

“You wanted seductive eating, right? This is a golden opportunity.” Hisoka smiles as the lemon juice begins trickling down his wrist. “Ah, look, it’s dripping…what should I do…?”

“L—Lick—”

He does as commanded, the blade of his tongue slowly skimming along his skin. The tang of salt and sourness doesn’t blend well, but it’s worth it for the growing flush on Gon’s cheeks and ears.

“How do you do that?” Gon leans forward subtly, his eye tracking every detail—the better to learn the trick himself.

“Privacy, confidence, practice, and knowing what you like.” So saying, he wiggles his fingers playfully before sucking on the wet tips one at a time.

“…That sounds a little _too_ simple. There’s got to be more to it!”

Hisoka attempts to distract Gon by sucking his ring finger down to the knuckle. He smiles inwardly at the warm, rippling feeling against his skin in a delicious feedback loop.

“Nice try, I know what you’re doing!”

Hisoka slips his ring finger from his mouth with a lewd _pop_. “I really am telling the truth; you could learn with ease…”

Gon looks the closest to “shy” Hisoka’s ever seen him. “That’s not really my style. Thanks for offering, though!”

_What a pity. Oh, well—that means I have an enthusiastic audience either way…_

“I’m in the mood for dessert,” Hisoka murmurs, dropping the lemon carelessly onto his plate. “What about you?”

“If the dessert’s as delicious as everything else here, sure.” Gon’s tone may be breezy, but the look he gives Hisoka suggests he knows the _actual_ reason the topic came up and highly approves.

They both order caramel pudding—the simplest item on the menu—and are gifted with wine glasses filled with not just pudding, but whipped cream topped with maraschino cherries. It’s almost too pretty to eat, but they do so anyway.

Hisoka ponders whether to tie the cherry stems with his tongue or sensually enjoy the whipped cream; both have their merits. _Oh, but there’s another option…_

Hisoka dips his maraschino cherry into the whipped cream, the stem twirling between his fingers. The color reminds him of Kurapika’s eyes, so vibrant with rage.

He lifts the white-drenched cherry up to his lips and leisurely licks it, enjoying the frothy sweetness almost as much as Gon’s pleased expression. He slips the cherry into his mouth with a soft moan, and the stem _pops_ free with a tug. The fruit’s chewy, almost savory texture is a pleasant respite from the softer parts of the dessert.

“Looks like I ate my cherry too soon,” Gon says with a grin. “We could’ve had a contest!”

“Which you would win,” Hisoka replies after swallowing.

“Really? Why?”

“Your charms are hard to resist.”

“This is one of those ‘small-scale power’ things again, isn’t it.”

“No need to be suspicious; it’s the truth…”

Gon’s phone rings and interrupts their conversation.

He can’t help but be curious as Gon answers his phone with a hint of trepidation.

“It’s that throw-away again…and there’s still nothing bad attached, if the anti-virus is right.”

“Does it have a subject line?”

“Nope. It just says ‘Listen to this’. Well, if it’s safe—”

Hisoka’s about to warn Gon that “safe for phones” and “safe for his sensitive ears” are different things, but Gon’s already listening to the audio.

Hisoka’s phone vibrates, and he finds an identical email. Despite the pang of reluctance in his chest, he decides to give the audio a listen anyway. The phone is warm against his ear as he hits play.

At first, he can’t hear anything; there _may_ be footsteps, but they’re so quiet it’s hard to tell. Then a fight breaks out. A series of shuffles and harsh _scrapes_ slither through his eardrums. The heavy breathing that follows is much more appealing. _In fact, it sounds familiar—_

The metallic _click_ of a knife refocuses his attention. _Ooh, delightful._ It _whooshes_ through the recorded air. Once, twice, there’s the wet sound of a slash. Whoever’s being hit barely reacts.

Until the third strike.

A terrified scream of agony blasts into Hisoka’s ears; he yanks the phone away. The sound’s delicious, but not so close and loud. As his ears stop ringing, he recognizes the voice: _That’s Gon, not too long ago._

There’s a quick edit—probably to stop the screaming, or to save it for the sender’s amusement—and suddenly there’s a slithery sound of gauze being unwound. After a series of rustling noises, Hisoka finally hears another voice, a refined yet worn-out baritone:

“ _…This is all I can do. I—I hope you can forgive me._ ”

Kurapika.

“ _I should have known you would come here: you love animals, after all._ ” Kurapika’s fond chuckle is more of a rasp.

Hisoka finally looks at Gon. His remaining eye is dull, not taking anything in. His expression is blank—but not with fear. No, this is somewhere beyond rage and sadness.

“Shut it off, Hisoka,” Gon says, his voice trembling and dark.

“Don’t you want to hear your friend’s voice?” It’s a genuine question.

“Not like this.”

Hisoka turns off the recording and his phone, his mind whirring with possibilities. “It’s a little convenient that this person just _happened_ to have this recording, isn’t it?”

Gon threatens to crush his phone in his white-knuckled grip. “And Kurapika didn’t know he was being recorded. Whoever this is, they’ve kept it until now—why?”

“Maybe they didn’t keep it. They could have found it online somewhere.”

“Let’s find out,” Gon says, his jaw set. He types out a reply with shaking fingers.

Hisoka resumes eating, swirling his spoon around to get the best mixture of pudding, caramel and whipped cream. _Mm, it’s actually less sugary than one would think…_

“Aaand _send._ ” Gon presses a button then slumps back in his seat. He looks as weary as he would after a battle.

“It looks like someone needs a distraction,” Hisoka purrs, preparing to scoop up another spoonful of pudding.

Gon smiles and shakes his head, looking almost fond. But there’s a tension in his eye and shoulders that refuses to leave, no matter what Hisoka says or does.

Icy annoyance slithers through his veins, but he knows by now that all he need do is wait patiently until Gon voices his troubles. _It won’t be long now—which is small compensation for having our peaceful evening dashed._

\---

When they bring the check back to the front desk, Hisoka notices that the other patrons are still there, chatting and eating quietly. That in itself isn’t surprising. But it occurs to him that some or all of these patrons may be mafia members; which means he should _definitely_ usher Gon out the door in case they’re survivors of the gambling ring rescue.

Instead, Gon thanks the waitress and heads for the door in a seemingly casual manner. But that tension is still there in the set of Gon’s shoulders and the hurried length of his stride. He opens the door as if it’s an unlocked cage.

“Are you alright?” Hisoka asks quietly, as the chill night air engulfs them.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet,” Gon says, his voice barely audible in the ever-present traffic.

“The past isn’t important. I leave that to the historians.”

Gon makes a strange noise that might be a laugh.

“I do wish I could’ve been there, though,” Hisoka says, making sure he’s in Gon’s field of vision.

“To protect me? No thanks!”

He shrugs one shoulder at that flippant remark. “No, I know you can handle most things. It just feels strange having not given you that injury myself…”

He watches the shiver crawl up Gon’s spine with a certain satisfaction—he’s treating him well because, at day’s end, he is _prey._ Prey to be teased and coddled and broken…and then repaired so that the fun can start all over again. Such a rare, special person should be kept alive as long as possible, the better to gain maximum enjoyment.

Gon slowly turns his head to look at him, brown eye bright as the city lights. “So we’re on the same page, then.”

Now it’s Hisoka’s turn to feel a hot shiver against his neck.

They fight their way through the crowds without a word, until they return to the hotel. The halls’ silence makes the simple trek feel vast.

Gon unlocks the door briskly, the doorknob dwarfed by his hand as he enters his (their?) room. He pauses in the entryway to yawn and stretch, his back muscles straining for Hisoka’s enjoyment.

“That was a good date,” Gon says, looking over his shoulder coyly. “What do you think?”

“Agreed,” Hisoka says, stifling a yawn of his own. “I feel like taking a shower before bed.” He telegraphs the potential offer, just in case.

“Go ahead, I’ll be here…” Gon’s feet drag as he shuffles toward the bed.

Hisoka senses that he’ll use this opportunity to ease some tension—which, of course, is fine by him. He flicks on the bathroom light and shuts the door without locking it.

He takes his time undressing, in order to admire his well-honed figure. He presses his fingers against the healing bruises and sighs in bliss at the sparks of pain that follow. _Would Gon do this too, I wonder?_ He shakes his head. _No, he would be gentle._

He imagines Gon’s warm mouth against his ear, tanned fingers stroking his pale chest softly. Then he remembers Gon’s blossoming fetish, and thinks of Gon worshipping his fingers with his body, eye hazy with pleasure…

Heat rushes to his belly, and his reflection sighs. _Yes, a warm shower is_ definitely _needed…or perhaps a cold one to ensure I don’t use up all the hot water._

As he showers, something seems… _off._

Not even pleasuring himself can distract him—an unpleasant surprise. Yes, the water is warm and gentle on his skin, the soap smells pleasantly bland—but he feels cramped, despite the shower itself being just his size. Normally, he would just brush it off as simple claustrophobia, but after today’s events that just isn’t possible.

He turns off the knob with a _squeak_ and steps out of the shower, feeling a chill not merely from the change in temperature. He’s barely aware that he’s putting on a hotel-brand bathrobe as he probes the whitewashed walls with his _Nen._

_There’s nothing strange about this place. And yet…_ The hairs on the back of his neck prickle in warning.

_Bangbang._ Gon’s fists pound against the door.

“Hisoka, let me in!”

“The door’s unlocked,” he replies, his heart beginning to race.

Gon bursts into the bathroom, his eye wide and his face uncharacteristically pale. His phone threatens to fall from his trembling hand.

“I’m packing up—I’ll get your stuff too!”

“I already did. Well, save for the clothes here.”

“Good, put ‘em back on!”

The next few minutes blur as they make their escape. Gon looks ready to kill as he grabs Hisoka’s hand and runs down to the hotel lobby. _I’d be charmed if you weren’t so worried._ He barely sees if Gon paid and left the room key; all he knows is that the desk clerk looked confused to see them go.

The night sky is eclipsed by Yorknew’s neon lights. Gon’s grip is clammy. Sweat mingles and cools on their skin.

_We’re too tired—if this keeps up—_

They’re still running. Metal, neon and stone flashes by, on and on until they reach the airport’s parking lot.

Cars of all sizes and colors stand around them like sentries, glowing under the white glare of the looming lights. Faintly Hisoka can hear engines revving, or tired tourists shambling into the airport. Slowly, he begins to feel safe again—if nothing else, there’s room to move.

“What’s this all about?” Hisoka asks, once he catches his breath.

Gon slumps forward, hands on his unsteady knees. His body is shivering uncontrollably as he hands his phone to Hisoka.

Hisoka makes a noise of surprise as he opens the shell-like case—it’s still on, and already open to the new email from that throwaway. It’s a reply to Gon’s email—which is as angry and caps-locked as expected.

As he scrolls down to the reply, he understands Gon’s behavior.

At first, there’s no connecting thread between the image files: one file may be their adventures at the Water Garden, while another shows what appears to be Yorknew’s hidden auction showing off their wares.

But soon the pieces fit into place: two of the items on display are the gauze from Gon’s eye injury, and the audio sent to them earlier (presumably unedited). And the mysterious sender’s either the seller or the lucky bidder.  

“Good thing they didn’t bug the hotel.” Hisoka hands the phone back. “This person seems to be an obsessive fan!”

Gon’s chuckle borders on hysterical. It’s a response, at least.

Then the lights die.

Hisoka reaches for Gon—and finds nothing.

He hears Gon struggling. Growling. Someone’s dragging him away.

Icy rage hits him. He moves toward the ruckus—an elbow _slams_ into his chest. His pain tolerance shields him from his chest’s spasms.

He falls forward. Gravel _scrapes_ against his knees and palms.

A familiar aura flickers above him, coldly gleeful and full of bloodlust.

The realization sinks into him like a warm bath. A pleased smile crosses his lips; he’d hoped these were the presences after him, and now here he is, proven right.

He lets his body fall into weary unconsciousness. The Phantom Troupe (or some of them) will still be here when he wakes up. _But will Gon…?_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka's luck is rather strange today: on the one hand, he's been drugged to the point of immobility. On the other hand, he gets to watch two fighters filled with potential fight to survive. (Why does he feel so tense about that?) At least he and Gon get to enjoy a reunion or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I think this chapter's been edited/added to enough. While I know full-well I'm not even close to Togashi's level re: fight scenes, I still wanted it to feel _close_ to a Hunter x Hunter fight, y'know? ^^; (Heh, that still sounds arrogant to me. Oh, well, you know what I mean!)

Hisoka wakes up in a dank, gray basement sadly devoid of Machi—but not of Gon, which is a pleasant surprise.

What’s more unpleasant is that both he and Gon are seated in stiff-backed wooden chairs opposite each other. Despite not being bound, it’s impossible to move his limbs. Hisoka’s tongue is heavy in his parched throat, and he suspects Gon has the same problem. His head feels like it’s being ground to bits with a hammer; sickly-sweet chloroform lingers in the air. _We meet again, old friend. But it feels like they gave me something else, as well…_

A lone white light hangs from the ceiling, swinging leisurely to and fro. He doesn’t look at it long—the motions make his stomach roil. The room is barren of anything else.

“Guh—Gon?” he manages, his voice rasping against his throat.

Gon groans and lifts his head, only to cringe and bring it back down again. His eye looks open only by sheer force of will.

“Hiso…ka…where are we?”

“A basement somewhere.” Hisoka coughs and wishes he had water.

A door behind him _creaks_ then shuts. High, atonal humming fills the room as the visitor pads over to them, the faint _hiss_ of cloth on stone serving as an accompaniment.

Hisoka watches Gon’s expression morph from wariness to outright terror and quickly figures out who it is.

“Boo.” Feitan leans against Hisoka’s chair—he seems to be carrying something. “Long time no see.”

“Good morning, Feitan,” Hisoka says, knowing he’d be heard even at a whisper. “You’re…unexpected.” He coughs again.

Feitan sneers. His fashion sense hasn’t changed a bit: he easily blends into the shadows around them with his long black coat. He looks as pale as a corpse in this light, and about as cheerful.

“Hope you slept well,” Feitan says in his usual dispassionate whisper. “The drugs we gave you won’t kill you—that’d be boring.”

Gon’s glare isn’t as impressive as it usually is, but considering the circumstances it makes sense.

“What do you want from us?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

Feitan suddenly strides toward Gon, carrying a metal tray with two water bottles. He places the tray down on the floor with a _clang_ , obviously pleased at Gon’s flinching reaction.

“No _wonder_ you like him, Hisoka.” His shoes _scrape_ the floor pointedly, and he snickers as Gon grits his teeth.

“He is _my_ prey.” Hisoka knows Feitan’s too arrogant to heed him—his words are meant more for Gon.

Feitan picks up one of the full bottles and uncaps it, tossing the cap aside without a second thought. He stands to one side, thus ensuring Hisoka can see perfectly. He holds the bottle in front of Gon’s face, the water _swishing_ lightly.

“Drink up, Gon.”

Something about hearing that high, impersonal voice say Gon’s name makes Hisoka want to kill him on the spot. _But even if I wanted to, I can’t currently. Patience, patience…_

Gon shakes his head and squeezes his lips shut.

Feitan grabs his hair and yanks his head back. “ _Open._ ”

Gon opens his mouth to scream—and the bottle eases past his lips with dissonant gentleness.

Watching that tanned throat bob in eager desperation as it drinks makes Hisoka’s parched throat more pronounced. Every now and then, Feitan tips the water back to let Gon breathe before he returns it to his lips.

“That’s one down,” Feitan whispers, as the dregs of the bottle disappear. “How about another?”

Gon’s gaze flicks to Hisoka. “What about—”

“There’s more just outside.”

“Good—then I’ll take it.”

Feitan places the now-empty bottle down and picks up the remaining full one. It’s hard to tell if he’s pleased or not.

The cycle repeats itself—but this time Hisoka notices Gon’s abdomen swelling, and the way he begins to fidget. He knows Gon won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

Feitan pretends not to notice, but there’s a clear aura of smug satisfaction emanating from him.

“Stop,” Gon finally says, just as the bottle empties. “Stop, I need to go—”

“How badly?” Feitan asks in a soft, terrible voice.

“It hurts, please—”

Feitan grabs Gon by the collar and yanks him to his feet. Without saying a word, he hauls Gon out of Hisoka’s sight.

“Quit struggling. I don’t want to touch your dick either, idiot.” There’s a shuffling sound. “Look down, see this hole? That’s where you go.”

Gon seems to be fumbling with his zipper—whatever drugs they gave him must still be active. _Considering Gon’s metabolism, an impressive feat._ The harsh _rasp_ of pants being unzipped fills the room.

The hole must be fairly deep, since Hisoka can’t smell any urine from here. Hisoka turns his mind to other things—namely, how come the Phantom Troupe captured both of them, not just him.

“Why,” Gon mutters, as Feitan dumps him back in the chair. “Why’re you doing this?”

“Who wants piss on their tools?”

Hisoka hears Feitan rummaging around somewhere behind him—presumably getting more water.

He catches Gon’s terrified stare, his muscles coiled and tense despite being drugged.

Feitan returns with an identical tray, and the scenario repeats.

Hisoka’s too grateful for cool, refreshing water to care—even if there’s a metallic aftertaste he could do without. He eagerly downs two bottles, the roof of his mouth finally feeling back to normal.

The growing tension in his gut cuts through his reprieve like a hot knife. At first, he thinks Feitan won’t help him up, but he’s soon proven wrong.

The world lurches and spins horribly when Feitan hauls him over to the hole in the corner; he guesses it’s a few feet deep.

“Puke, clown, and you’ll lie in it.”

“Technically, I’m a magician…”

Feitan’s grip on his neck tightens, and he gets the point.

Hisoka’s so glad to relieve himself, he doesn’t make a sly comment when Feitan has to unzip Hisoka’s pants for his useless hands. It helps that Feitan seems utterly bored by this whole business—and Hisoka’s pain tolerance is such that Feitan’s hobby would prove ineffective. _Or could it? Hmm…_

There’s one thing Hisoka can say about Feitan’s treatment: he gets it over and done with in a flash. _Still, Machi would be_ so _much better…_

As Hisoka slumps into his chair, the world finally stops spinning.

Gon’s fingers twitch, clench and unclench. Slowly, carefully, he rolls one shoulder then the other; Hisoka feels a twinge of relief.

Feitan mutters something under his breath and vanishes out of Hisoka’s line of sight again.

Hisoka wonders what it would be like to feel that jagged nose break under his fist, or watch Gon do it instead… Fantasies dance in his head, the better to keep him preoccupied.

“Is it done?” asks a polite tenor voice behind them.

“You finally decided to show,” Feitan says, dumping the tray with an obnoxious _clang_.

“You didn’t play with them, did you?” The tenor voice is just as unconcerned as Feitan.

“’Course not. They’re your and Chrollo’s toys.” It sounds like Feitan’s walking away. “I’ll be on guard.”

“Good.”

There’s no sound, but Hisoka can sense a powerful aura coming close. He’d like to turn and get a better look, but his head lurches horribly when he tries.

A young man in a black and red kimono enters his line of vision. His dark purple hair, tied back in prim bun, bounces lightly on his head as he moves. He looks about sixteen, lithe and unearthly pale in the overhead light. His rose-pink eyes flick toward Hisoka before turning their full attention to Gon.

“Good morning,” he says politely, but his smile is subtly cruel. “I’m sure you don’t remember me. But I remember you…”

Gon’s quick on the uptake. “Kalluto…?!”

It’s all beginning to make sense now. The presences, the attackers (Chrollo surely has an ability to control people _somewhere_ in that book of his), those strangely specific emails…the Phantom Troupe has the connections to make those things happen, but only a few of them have specific _reason_ to.

“Does Chrollo want a rematch after all?” Hisoka can’t believe his luck.

Kalluto shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. He just wanted you. That’s the only reason I bothered to capture you as well.”

Gon scowls. “Wait, why _did_ you capture me? I’ve left your family alone, I don’t even see Killua—”

“—But you have contact with him.”

“Only by email, I don’t know _exactly_ where he is. And I’m not about to stalk him, y’know!”

Kalluto sniffs disdainfully. “What kind of Hunter are you, then?”

Gon puffs up in offense. “One with more important things to do than listen to you!”

“What a shame.”

Despite Kalluto’s attempts at superiority, he’s still giving in to Gon’s bait. Hisoka sits back and watches the show unfold, all the while testing his muscles to see if they respond. _Still no luck…_

“ _Enough_ ,” Kalluto finally says, and a paper fan slips out of his sleeve as if conjured. “I brought you here for a reason; now stand…if you can.”

Gon lurches unsteadily to his feet, but his eye is bright with a familiar thrill. Without missing a beat he runs through a series of stretches, starting out slow but growing faster.

Kalluto taps his fan against his lips with a thoughtful expression. “So you _do_ recover from drugs quickly. It’s a good thing Nobu isn’t with us; he would try to recruit you again.”

“Is it just you and Feitan?” Hisoka asks in as mild a tone as he can manage.

As expected, Kalluto doesn’t answer. His attention is firmly on Gon. While he’s burying it under a disdainful mask, his bloodlust is showing through his aura like pins and needles.

“You _will_ tell me where Killua is.” He lunges at Gon, fan unfurled.

It’s an unfair match, but Hisoka can’t help but enjoy the spectacle regardless. Kalluto may be young, but his potential nearly rivals Gon’s; meanwhile Gon’s fighting off the drugs quickly. _Would this be an equal match otherwise, I wonder…_

Gon dives out of the way of Kalluto’s confetti. His knees are bloodied, but not broken. Kalluto flashes behind him, his fan inches from Gon’s neck.

The pace increases. Green and black blurs dance, meet, bleed.

Kalluto’s plan is clear: Gon’s _Hatsu_ (if available) needs space and time. If he’s always on the defensive…

Gon’s right hook misses. Kalluto’s fan _scrapes_ Gon’s thigh.

Hisoka wishes he had popcorn—and that his eyes would stop drooping closed. _Whatever drug is in my veins had better wear off soon, or I’ll miss the fun._

Gon’s leg lashes out, nearly toppling Kalluto. He _does_ knock the wind out of him—impressive, since Kalluto’s using _Ken._

Hisoka’s heart feels lighter as Gon mimics Kalluto—if he can use _Nen_ today, that’ll make things more interesting. He admires the white blaze around Gon’s body, the warmth it offers even from this distance.

Kalluto is less impressed. “My brothers’ are better.”

“Yeah, Killua’s aura is amazing!”

“That was meant to insult you.”

Gon laughs and shrugs. “I know, but I wanted to talk about Killua with you.”

Kalluto smiles coldly. “You will shortly.”

It’s at this moment that Hisoka’s head lolls back and he drops into unconsciousness again. After dreaming of a nonsensical cacophony of colors and noise, he sluggishly opens his eyes and finds the fight is still going. _I must have been out for a few minutes._ He cautiously looks down, prepared to see vomit soaking his clothes. He’s clean for now.

Hisoka turns his attention back to the fight.

Gon’s stuck on the defensive; _Ken_ flickers from his head to his knees randomly.

When Gon’s concentration slips, Kalluto attacks: confetti slices Gon’s raised arms, speckling blood on the floor.

_I hope you’re planning something, Gon—or this fight will end all too soon._

Gon’s next to the empty chair. He hefts and _cracks_ it on the floor. Splinters burst everywhere—but Kalluto blows them away with his fan.

“If you’re aiming to blind me, try again,” Kalluto boasts.

After another bout, Gon puts distance between them.

The two breathe heavily, dusty and disheveled. Blood trickles down Gon’s thigh and knees, soaking his pants—it’s a tempting image, and Hisoka wishes he could move so as to admire it thoroughly.

Gon faces sideways and crouches, his eye blazing. His hands are hidden from view. His words are barely a whisper.

Kalluto dashes forward, fan at the ready.

_A mistake._

“— _Paper!_ ”

An orange flare bursts from Gon’s hands, blinding Hisoka and Kalluto with its light.

_Pssht._

Hisoka tentatively cracks open his eyes to find only darkness. The light bulb must’ve shattered from the impact. He can’t sense Gon either. At first, he doesn’t understand—then he grins.

_You can’t hit what you can’t sense._

Hisoka revels in Kalluto’s gasp of shock, followed by his aura vanishing. The room is silent.

A _crunch_ and _scrape_ pierces the air—did Gon skid on something? Hisoka can’t sense anything.

With a pounding head he strains his ears for any further noise. Nothing. _Perhaps that was Kalluto instead? No—he clearly prefers an elegant style._

The sounds are quieter now, almost inaudible: _scrape, scrape, crunch._ There’re long pauses between the noises—the person is clearly listening for something.

There’s a soft gasp and _thud_ of someone falling. A tussle breaks out—fabric _rips_ , skin _slaps_ on stone.

“Tell me where Killua is,” Kalluto says softly. It sounds like he’s grabbed Gon.

“Never!”

The sound of skin being pulled fills the air, combined with a pained gasp.

“Then I’ll ask Hisoka. Tell me…or I pluck out your toy’s eye.”

Hisoka’s stomach lurches; he wills himself to move, _now_ —but he’s still helpless.

“No answer?” A faint note of pleasure squirms into Kalluto’s calm voice. “That’s to be expected.”

“Kalluto—this isn’t like a Zoldyk,” Hisoka says. “Your family would find this disgraceful.”

“I have another family, too.” There’s a _whisper_ of clothes rustling. “Feitan in particular has taught me many things. I used to think I should stop playing with my prey; he taught me differently. …Well, enough reminiscing.”

A grotesque wet, slimy sound fills the stale air. It sounds like a finger gliding against sweaty skin.

Gon sounds like he’s about to be sick, and Hisoka understands completely. _After all,_ I _wouldn’t gauge out your eyeball like a mere torturer._

“Open up,” Kalluto coos.

“ _No!_ ”

A sharp _pop_ of bones breaking pierces the air.

Kalluto lets out a hiss of shocked pain—

—And the floor erupts.

Hisoka quickly shields himself with _Ken_ , only to discover that he needn’t be so cautious.

“Good morning,” says Illumi, as he crawls out of his hole. He lights up the room with his aura.

“It’s so early? That’s a surprise.” Hisoka looks over at where Kalluto and Gon are fighting, and sees that Gon shattered Kalluto’s dominant wrist in a vice-like grip. Kalluto’s twitching fingers are inches away from Gon’s eye.

Illumi’s beside them in an instant and pulls Kalluto off Gon like it’s nothing. “Up you go, Kallu.”

He lets go of Kalluto, who stands tall despite his dirtied appearance. His hair is loose from his bun, rumpled and past his shoulders. Drops of blood speckle his cheeks—whether they’re from Gon or his injured hand is hard to say. Bruises and scrapes decorate his arms and legs, many due to the shards of light-bulb glass embedded in his skin.

Gon rolls over onto his back, gasping for breath. His shirt is almost nonexistent, and he’s covered in gouges from Kalluto’s fan. His good eye is red-rimmed and sticky-looking, a bitter reminder of what almost happened.

Illumi glances over at Hisoka and tosses him something. “Here, this should speed your recovery along. Mama made them for when we work with those who don’t have our metabolism.”

Hisoka catches it with a clumsy hand and sees that it’s a pill of some kind. _Should I take this…?_

Illumi notes his unease. “You’re too useful to kill.”

Somewhat reassured, Hisoka takes the pill and marvels as it melts in his mouth (and cringes at it’s “cherry” flavor). This pill’s the definition of “fast-acting”—his head feels clearer already, and his limbs can move, though at a snail’s pace. _That’s better than nothing._

Hisoka lurches over to Gon and crouches over him protectively. His shadow overlaps with Gon’s on the floor and walls, making them look melted together.

“Hiso…ka…” Gon pauses between sucking in breaths to look at him with a strange, soft expression. “You okay…?”

Just like at the hotel room, Hisoka’s chest sinks in confusion. “You’re the one with the injuries.”

Kalluto grabs his fan off the floor and brandishes it with his good hand; Illumi grabs his wrist and forces it down.

“Don’t bother, Kallu. He’ll never tell you where Killua is.”

“But, big brother—Gon’s our only link to Killua!”

Illumi sighs and tucks a strand of black hair behind his ear. “Kallu, you know that isn’t true. While I understand hurting him, you will gain nothing from it.”

Hisoka looks down at Gon, who’s still looking at him with that incomprehensible expression. _You’re lucky Gon’s distracted, Illumi…_

Kalluto’s fan trembles in his grip. “Why? He _must_ know something about Killua’s whereabouts!”

“No, I asked him myself. He won’t tell any Zoldyk where Killua is—we have bad blood between us, for some reason.”

“Are you feeling better, Gon?” Hisoka asks, as the Zoldyk brothers continue their argument.

“A little,” Gon rasps, running his hand lightly along his injuries. “I need my first-aid kit…”

“I’ll find it.”

Hisoka uses his Bungee Gum to open the door, and walks unsteadily out into the mysterious adjoining room. He quickly realizes that there isn’t much mystery to be had: it’s a cramped kitchen. The running theme for this place seems to be monotony—where the previous room was all gray, this one is brown, save for the metal kitchen sink.

He has unexpected luck—just as he notes this, his phone _brriiings_ joyfully. He finds their things have been unceremoniously dumped in a corner, next to a cherry-wood cupboard. They stand out like blood on gauze in this place.

He fishes through the pile for his phone, and finds it mercifully unharmed. He looks at the caller I.D.—and smiles in surprise.

“Hello, Kurapika,” he purrs, as he puts the phone to his ear. “What a lovely surprise!”

“ _I heard from my informants that Gon’s with you,_ ” Kurapika says.

The steely edge to his voice sends a delighted shiver down Hisoka’s body. “Ooh, how I’ve _missed_ your rage. Yes, Gon is with me, and…well, _I_ haven’t harmed him, but the _Troupe_ …” He whispers the name, better to linger in Kurapika’s ear.

As expected, the reaction is explosive. “ _Where are you? Where are they?_ ”

“I’m unsure. But we’re just about to escape, don’t fret.” Hisoka pinches the phone between his shoulder and ear before resuming his search for Gon’s first-aid kit. “Let me search for the boss…”

As Hisoka pulls out Gon’s first-aid kit, he probes the area for Chrollo’s aura—he knows it intimately, he won’t miss it. Much to his surprise, aside from Feitan (who appears to be a few rooms away) he can’t sense anyone nearby. _Perhaps Kalluto was going to call him later?_

With that disappointing thought, Hisoka replies “Hmm, too bad, he isn’t here. Only Feitan is, it seems. Oh, and Kalluto, but Gon and Illumi took care of him.”

“ _Killua’s brothers are with you too?_ ”

Hisoka pouts. “Why are you so incredulous? I’m sure they won’t stay long. Anyway, I must go—but I’m sure Gon will call you later.” He replaces Kurapika’s new number with the old one he had saved. “Bye-bye now…”

“ _Wait—_ ” Kurapika doesn’t get to finish.

With a lighter heart, Hisoka returns to Gon’s side.

\---

He enters the room just in time to see Illumi making subtle adjustments to a _Nen_ needle in Kalluto’s head, obscured by Illumi tying Kalluto’s hair back into a bun. It’s unclear if Kalluto is aware of his older brother’s true intentions. He mustn’t know; his head wouldn’t be obediently bowed otherwise. _Or perhaps he knows and doesn’t care._

Hisoka walks over to Gon and begins tending to him. He doesn’t want Kalluto to know about Kurapika, teacher’s pet that he is, so he keeps mum for now.

Much to his surprise, the first-aid kit is neat and tidy: the gauze is in one section, the ointments are lined up in rows, and the tweezers and other tools are carefully strapped to the inside lid. Machi forced him to learn how to tend to smaller injuries a long time ago, so he picks out the proper items with ease.

“Hand me those tweezers, please,” Illumi says, now finished with his family bonding-through-brainwashing session.

“Here.”

“Thank you.”

Moments pass in a flurry of bloody shards _squishing_ free, and gauze and bandages carefully winding around flesh. Hisoka takes particular care in cleaning Gon’s eye, wetting a white washcloth in the kitchen sink and gently dabbing the cloth against and around his eyelid.

Gon reaches up and takes Hisoka’s wrist in his hand firmly. “I can do it,” he says, slight tension in his voice.

“Of course,” Hisoka says, handing the washcloth over. Gon’s hand leaves bloody rings on his wrist. “How does your head feel?”

“Not bad. It’s a little foggy, but it’s going away. What about you?”

He watches Gon dab at his eyelid with a tense hand, looks at the cold sweat cooling on his brow, the faint streaks of tears washed away under the cloth. He thinks of how his stomach lurched a moment ago, a rare event for someone as controlled as him.

“I feel strange,” he says without meaning to.

Gon’s hand stills, the washcloth lifted away from his face and dripping onto the floor. “Because of the drugs?”

“I believe so.”

“Okay.” Gon resumes his cleaning with a small smile on his face.

“Hisoka,” Illumi calls softly, drawing his attention. “I’d like a word.”

Hisoka walks with Illumi to the kitchen, where they can still keep an eye on things but hopefully be out of Gon’s earshot. Hisoka rests his hip against the kitchen sink, while Illumi stands by the cupboard, giving them a good social distance (by Zoldyk standards).

“I’m sorry about Kallu’s actions,” Illumi says, sounding genuinely disappointed. “As a Zoldyk, he should know better.”

Hisoka flicks his gaze to Kalluto’s motionless body. “Are you going to bring him home, then?”

“Yes. I heard members of the Phantom Troupe were in town, I decided to check and see if Kalluto was here. Mama has been worried about him for years; this will make her happier, I think.”

“Thank you for rescuing us.”

Illumi cocks his head to one side, his hair flowing along with him. “You didn’t give me exact change last night.”

Hisoka sighs and searches his pockets. “How much?”

Illumi has the gall to think it over. “Two jenny. But since I’m wasting Needlemen against Kalluto’s teacher for your sake, it’s ten.”

“You’re so stingy, Illumi, seriously!” Hisoka whines, even as he hands the jenny over.

As always, Illumi is utterly unfazed. “‘Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile’, isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“That sounds peculiar coming from you.”

“It’s just a phrase. Oh, and I forgot to tell you: I’m married.”

It’s a literally stunning revelation: Hisoka’s speechless for a long moment.

“…Is this a joke, Illumi?”

Illumi’s eyebrow twitches. “For that, I won’t give you any wedding cake.” He glances up to the ceiling in thought. “Hmm, actually, it happened three years ago, and you wouldn’t want stale, moldy cake anyway. Nevermind.”

“But—you’re _married._ To whom?”

“If I told you, the criminal underworld would know about it by breakfast. And it’s important she stay hidden from those sorts of people.”

That seemingly vague sentence actually gives Hisoka a lot to work with, but he simply smiles and agrees to Illumi’s logic.

Illumi glances back at the darkened room then upwards, his expression as impenetrable as ever. “You and Gon should go; Kalluto’s teacher is coming.”

“Thanks again,” Hisoka says, though he yearns to stay and watch the fight play out. _The assassin against the torturer, both the top in their field: who will win?_

But he knows full well that the fight will be over in a flash, and Gon will want to continue his own match with Kalluto if they stay. _And if we leave amidst the ruckus, Chrollo will find out…and follow._

With that cheerful thought in mind, he heads back into the darkened room, scooping up Gon and their things. It only takes a few moments before they leave the abandoned apartment building and feel the dawn’s rays warm their skin.

“I have a surprise for you,” Hisoka says, as he sets Gon down.

“What is it?” Gon glances at him suspiciously.

He retrieves his phone from his pocket and shows Gon the I.D. Gon’s shining eye and widening smile is well worth the wait.

“Hisoka, is that _really_ Kurapika?” His fingers twitch like he wants to snatch the phone from Hisoka’s hands.

“Don’t worry, you can call him. But first: where should we go now? Chrollo will certainly come after us—which Kurapika would want to know about—and we’ll need an advantageous location.”

Gon looks down at the cracked pavement for a moment, frowning in thought. Then he looks up with a confident grin.

“Zevil Island!”

“Feeling nostalgic, are we?”

Gon shrugs. “Nobody will get hurt there, and Chrollo likes places he hasn’t been, right? So it’s as good a place as any.”

“Why not Greed Island? That could be entertaining, too.”

Gon shakes his head empathically. “A man like Chrollo doesn’t deserve to be there! And besides,” he adds, resuming his laidback manner, “I already beat it, Kurapika would probably find it annoying, and you didn’t seem that fond of it—so what’s the point?”

Hisoka notes the phrasing of that sentence with no small amusement and affection. “Hmm, perhaps you’re right. Well, then, Zevil Island it is. We just need to find an airship that will take us.”

“That’ll be easy—you’ve still got your Hunter license, right?”

“Right.”

Gon nods in approval and strolls toward the city proper, a familiar spring in his step despite his injuries. “Hurry up, Hisoka, we’ll miss the first flight!”

“Why the rush?” Hisoka asks, as he slinks along after Gon.

Gon looks back at him, the thrilled glow back in his eye. “We’ll need time to make a plan!”

Hisoka notes that Gon doesn’t immediately talk to Kurapika. _But perhaps that’s to be expected, considering how their last meeting went._ Despite the practical choice being the obvious answer, he ponders the implications with a slight, warm feeling in his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon gets to hear Kurapika's voice again, and begins working on a different way to look at his scarred eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the previous one, since I discovered I needed to split this chapter into two parts. (I need to make sure the plans actually make sense, after all.) With luck, I'll have it out in a more timely fashion! ^^;

Gon barely notices the clouds rolling by Ringon Airport’s windows as he dials Kurapika’s number with trembling fingers. It’s been years since they last talked—the eye incident doesn’t count—and he’s fumbling for things to say. _Relax, Gon. Just start with the basics. If I can still talk to Killua after everything that happened, this is nothing!_

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Hisoka stroll across the dark blue carpeting toward one of the brightly-colored snack dispensers. There’s a barely-perceptible sluggishness to Hisoka’s movements that makes Gon’s heart twinge with worry. He wonders if, even with their new clothes, anyone can tell that they just escaped being murdered. _Then again, in Yorknew that probably happens all the time—particularly during the auction._

He hears the familiar _whirrrr_ and _clunk-clunk-clunk_ of multiple snacks tumbling free from the machine. His heart relaxes slightly. _If Hisoka’s hungry, he must be feeling better!_

Bringing his mind back to Kurapika, Gon presses the call button.

He listens to the metallic _beeeeep, beeeep_ for what feels like forever. His phone grows slick with sweat. Then, finally:

“ _Hello. Who is this?_ ”

It sounds like Kurapika already knows who it is, and the subtle hint of wariness in his voice makes Gon’s fears slip away.

“Kurapika, it’s Gon!” It takes all his willpower not to shout it.

Kurapika’s surprised laugh is an unexpected gift. “ _Your voice is so mature, I almost don’t recognize you! That enthusiasm is a dead giveaway, though._ ”

“You’ve no idea how glad I am to hear you again! How are you?”

There’s a long, awkward silence. “ _…I’m as well as one can be. My revenge is going…_ well _. What about you?_ ”

Gon eagerly launches into a series of stories about what he’s been up to, including how he and Hisoka are traveling together. (Thankfully, Kurapika doesn’t try to lecture him about that.) As always, Kurapika’s a good listener, interjecting at the right points and even chuckling from time to time. But…something has definitely changed in him. There’s a sense of weariness to him that’s felt even through a phone line.

“ _Gon_ ,” Kurapika asks during a brief lull. “ _How is your eye?_ ”

Gon instinctively touches his eye-patch. “I have to wear an eye-patch, but that’s okay! I’m used to it. And my good eye’s doing great!”

Kurapika’s sigh _crackles_ with static. “ _I’m relieved to hear that. Gon—_ ”

Gon cuts Kurapika’s angst off at the pass. “Don’t worry about it, I forgive you! It was an accident, it happens.”

“ _…Oh. Thank you._ ” Kurapika sounds almost disbelieving.

“You’re welcome!”

Gon doesn’t mention how strange he feels when he looks at the scars for too long, how he still bumps into things, or how his heart aches whenever he sees a pitying stare. _It’s not important, anyway._

“Hisoka and I are going to Zevil Island, if you want to settle things with Chrollo,” he says instead, despite knowing there’re no “ifs” when it comes to revenge opportunities.

As expected, there’s another long pause. Kurapika usually doesn’t make snap judgments, and he’s understandably never been fond of Hisoka.

“ _…That could work. But I have some rules to set._ ”

Gon glances at Hisoka, who’s eating his snacks on one of the plastic chairs nearby. “Okay, go ahead.”

“ _We must keep our distance from each other—Chrollo would be suspicious if he sensed all three of us at once. I’d rather not interact with Hisoka more than I have to, so if we meet in person, it should be you alone._ ”

“…Okay. And let me guess: you want to fight Chrollo on your own?” Gon tries to keep the worry and bitterness from his voice; he’s not sure if he succeeds.

“ _Of course—I don’t want you caught in the crossfire. As soon as it’s clear Chrollo’s coming, you’ll need to leave._ ”

Gon reluctantly agrees, and changes the subject by asking Kurapika if he’d like Leorio’s number. Surprisingly, Kurapika’s already got it, and has been in contact with Leorio for a while.

“Why didn’t he _tell_ me, then?”

“ _Don’t be angry at Leorio—I told him not to tell you. I…_ ” There’s a soft _creak_ of leather on the other line. “ _I don’t think you would like what I’ve become._ ”

“Kurapika. I just saw _Feitan._ You can’t have fallen _that_ far!”

“ _…Hm. Maybe you’re right._ _Wait,_ Feitan _? Gon, are you_ really _alright?_ ”

Gon pauses for a moment, wondering how to phrase this. He goes with the simple answer: “He was keeping me for his student, so he didn’t hurt me.”

“ _And the student?_ ”

“Oh, I fought him and won!” Gon’s chest glows with pride at this fact, even an hour later.

Kurapika’s chuckle sounds a touch exasperated. “ _Of course you did. I should’ve known. Well—this does put my worries to rest, a little. But remember: Chrollo is_ mine. _Tell Hisoka, too._ ”

“I will, don’t worry!”

After that, the conversation ends abruptly—Kurapika really _does_ seem busy. Still, Gon feels like he could fly to Zevil Island easily, with the lightness he feels from his heart to his feet.

“I take it the call went well?” Hisoka asks with a pleased expression when Gon reaches him.

Gon nods and takes a bag of gummy fruit snacks Hisoka’s offering. “Kurapika seems different, but it was great to talk with him again!” He _pops_ open the bag and reaches in, hoping for some oranges. “He’s set up some boundaries, of course—you should know them too.”

“From your tone, you don’t trust me to follow them. What an unfortunate change of pace…”

“Ha! You have a sneaky reputation, remember? I’m just being careful—”

“—Because you don’t want him to vanish again?”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.” Hisoka tilts his head to one side, his eyes dark with something guarded. “Do you worry about me that way?”

Gon pops a handful of gummies in his mouth, chewing them thoughtfully. The tangy orange, sweet grape and tart apple flavors clash on his taste-buds, but they aren’t enough to put him off eating them. After he swallows, he picks through the bag more carefully this time.

“Kurapika’s not like you…well, maybe he is a _little_ like you. When you’re alone, it’s okay, since you need that space! But when Kurapika’s alone, he…he could die. Or worse.”

Hisoka pauses in unwrapping a chocolate bar. “What could be worse than death?”

Gon’s mind flashes to a shambling not-Kite in a candlelit room; then to the sensation of his muscles bulging and shifting, his body overflowing with rage against Neferpitou and the power to sate it. His good mood flickers for a moment.

“…That’s easy, Hisoka. Becoming a different person.”

“But everyone changes as they grow older. You did, didn’t you? That’s part of growing up.”

“Yeah—but not like that.”

Hisoka sighs and glances at Gon’s arms. “I don’t understand…” He finishes unwrapping his chocolate and takes a bite, closing his eyes in enjoyment. “…But that’s alright.”

Gon watches an airship fly overhead and wonders if that’s true.

\---

On the airship, they have a more substantial breakfast, but Gon’s too distracted to really appreciate it.

They’re in their private room, which has a large, round wood table to sit at and eat. The two white beds have firm, bouncy mattresses and soft pillows, which will be wonderful to sleep on shortly. It seems like there’s a mandate for every airship: the walls must be either pure white, or a creamier color. The room is warm, much warmer than the place Feitan and Kalluto’d held them captive…and now here Gon is, right back to them again.

The events of this morning whirl and clatter around in his head—particularly how Kalluto nearly blinded him. _With those drugs in him, Hisoka couldn’t do anything to help…that must have been horrible! But…_

Gon watches Hisoka swipe one of his cantaloupe slices from the full, white bowl, and jokingly reaches across the table to reclaim it. Hisoka seems as confident as always, tossing the slice from hand-to-hand…and somehow putting it back in the bowl while Gon focuses on his hands.

_…It’s like this morning didn’t happen._

“Hisoka,” he says, as he traces patterns on the wood table’s grain, “is what happened this morning normal for you?”

“More-or-less,” Hisoka says casually, taking a sip of mint tea. “Though I would’ve preferred not seeing you in peril. And your _Nen_ —it wasn’t as powerful as on Greed Island, but it was more beautiful.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because of its rarity.”

Gon stares down at his hands; he can still feel traces of _Nen_ flowing through his veins like snowmelt, but he isn’t sure if it’s at _Hatsu_ -levels.

“Yeah, it was amazing…like nothing had changed…”

His heart begins to pound at the memory of using Jajanken again, how his hands tingled with that blazing heat he missed so much. _Maybe—maybe the problem’s fixed?_

Throwing caution to the winds, he concentrates his _Nen_ into his hands. His hands glow and tingle, his heart rises with the soaring thrill—

—And then his body burns with pain.

Even though he suspected it, it still shocks him: the slow, tearing sensation in his muscles, the hammering in his head, the way his stomach lurches and threatens to retch. He yearns to fall unconscious, to get away from this, but unfortunately his pain tolerance is too high for that.

Far away, he feels someone’s strong arms wrap around him from the side. On reflex, he struggles to get away—but the person’s too strong for that. _Oh—it’s Hisoka._ That thought pierces through the haze of pain around him; he grits his teeth and waits for the agony to pass.

Once he begins to calm down, he passes through Hisoka’s gentle hold like smoke. But he only moves a few breaths away; they’re still within each other’s space, an unexpected development.

Hisoka looks down at Gon with a beleaguered expression, running pale fingers through his pink hair. “ _Well._ I would call that a lesson learned, wouldn’t you?”

Gon finds it in himself to laugh. “…Might as well.”

“You _can_ rely on me a little, you know,” Hisoka says softly. “That offer still stands.”

“Thanks.” Gon means it, but the offer still bothers him. “But…it just feels like nothing’s changed, if you’re always bailing me out of trouble!” He lets his frustration seep through his voice, too tired and ashamed to bother hiding it.

Hisoka shrugs and rests his chin in his palm in a seemingly casual manner—but his eyes are shrouded. “I would say this is _very_ different from when you were a boy. My body was more reliable, for example.”

Gon squints at him. “I thought you said mornings like today were normal?”

“That’s true. But it was still bothersome.”

“Do you feel better, now?”

Hisoka stretches luxuriously to demonstrate, rolling his head up, down and side-to-side. “Well, if I can do this without feeling sick…”

“Good,” Gon says with a sigh of relief. “I was really worried back there; I thought Kalluto’d torture you for information!”

“I would have survived. No need to worry.”

Though Gon wants to press the issue, he doesn’t feel up to it right now. Instead, he asks Hisoka about Chrollo: his _Hatsu_ , his hobbies, anything that could help Kurapika.

Hisoka lifts an eyebrow artfully. “Wouldn’t Kurapika know all this already? This _is_ his life’s work, after all.”

For some reason that thought rankles. “I’m sure he does other things with his time—Leorio wouldn’t let that happen!”

“Hmm…perhaps not. Leorio’s passion would surely blow the wind out of Kurapika’s dour sails.”

Gon chuckles at the mental image of Leorio blustering against a Kurapika-manned boat; it’s a bittersweet dream, but one he enjoys lingering on.

Hisoka leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. He laces his fingers together as if viewing a battle map. “Chrollo enjoys knowledge and showing off his cleverness. Traps, riddles, challenges, all unknown things are like candy to him. But he doesn’t let that control him, either: he’s too collected for that. He can read people _very_ well, and has a sadistic streak.” He chuckles darkly. “But then, as the leader of the Phantom Troupe, that’s to be expected.”

Gon’s heart sinks. “…So you don’t know his weaknesses?”

“Well, yes, I do—that’s one benefit to having him defeat me at Heaven’s Arena. He needs that book of his for his _Hatsu_ ; and since it involves stealing others’ techniques but not killing them, he needs the person he stole from to be alive for him to keep the technique.”

“Huh. Well, it’s a start!”

Hisoka chuckles and cocks his head to one side, observing Gon carefully, like a puzzle missing pieces but fascinating nonetheless. “Your optimism and determination are admirable.”

Gon shrugs. “Just giving up won’t help anybody. It’s tough, but you can always find a way out of trouble.”

Hisoka nods—and snatches one of his cantaloupe slices again. “Good food and good company helps,” he says before taking a bite.

Gon rolls his eyes good-naturedly and pushes the bowl to the center of the table.

\---

Gon decides to wander around the airship to get his brain working. Hisoka takes the opportunity to sleep—or it _looks_ as if he’s sleeping when Gon tiptoes out the door. It’s hard to tell, with how still he always is.

As Gon strolls down the halls with their huge windows showing off the brilliant blue sky, he thinks of last night’s dinner with Hisoka. It seems so long ago, yet he clearly remembers the sparks of desire that rushed down his skin when Hisoka began showing off his seductive eating skills. Gon’s mind lingers on the slight curl of Hisoka’s fingers around the lemon slice, the way they flexed subtly when Hisoka licked the lemon juice from his wrist and palm, the heated gleam in Hisoka’s eyes as he held Gon’s gaze…

_…I want to make him feel that heat too._

The thought comes to him in a rush, as if reeled up from deep inside his mind. It makes him pause and stare at his reflection. A man with one eye and slightly weary posture stares back. He’s not normally one to question his looks, and he doesn’t now. (Hisoka enjoys seeing Gon bruised and bleeding almost as much as Gon enjoys the thrill of rising to his feet every time he gets struck down. Why bother thinking in terms of glossy magazines?)

Instead, Gon leans in closer and runs a finger along the edges of his eye-patch, stark white against his tanned skin. He smiles at the ticklish sensation. His attention focuses on how his scars adjust to accommodate beneath the fabric, and for the first time in a long time he wonders what that looks like.

He glances around quickly—wouldn’t want to creep out his fellow passengers—and slowly lifts up the patch, inch by inch. In the shadow of his hand, he can still see the short, jagged mark, a thick silvery line where an eye once was. He expects the dour weight on his heart, and it comes quickly.

But this time he tries a different tack.

Today, he pushes the dourness down, and focuses instead on the beauty of his scar, as he thinks Hisoka would see it: the elegant curve of the line, how it gleams in the light, the raised texture against his careful finger, the strangeness of the dulled sensation there. He still feels that icy, heavy weakness inside him—but this is only a beginning, so he isn’t that disheartened by it. _Still, this seems to be working. I feel a little better than before…!_

Hearing a chatting family rounding the corner, Gon places the eye-patch back where it belongs. He stays by the window, listening to the two mothers explaining to their son how the airship works. Their words make him think of Aunt Mito, and he smiles fondly. _One day, I’ll have to give her a trip on one of these! She isn’t scared of heights, so she’ll definitely enjoy the view._

Gon turns his thoughts to more serious matters: The Chrollo Problem. _Okay, so—he likes puzzles and traps, and he needs that book to steal_ Hatsu _. That would make him a suspicious guy, so he won’t take things at face value. If he likes to fight, though…_

He strolls past the various entertainment centers, where people are playing everything from basketball to pool. He remembers Razor and finds himself thinking of similar plans against Chrollo—but then most games are purely physical, and Gon can’t think of any riddles. He moves on.

 _Could we dare him to challenge us? But he’d expect that._ Gon glances at a hanging TV screen, showing off a game show. A group of old ladies are gleefully guessing the answers among themselves. Their bobbing white or gray hair seems to share their excitement. _Maybe if we offered him a prize—but what could a guy like that want? He can steal anything!_

He sighs and rubs his face wearily. _If only I could make him disappear. That’d solve—_

_—Wait._

Gon feels his growing smile tickle the palm of his hand.

 _Maybe I_ can _do that, from a certain point of view._

His mind afire with a new, wild plan, Gon races back to their room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through moments both intimate and antagonistic (often in combination), the tale concludes.

Gon takes care to whisper “Hisoka, you awake?” as he opens the door a crack.

“Yes, don’t worry about that,” Hisoka replies silkily. “Come in, won’t you?”

Gon eagerly does so, rushing to the bed Hisoka’s sitting on like a reporter with a new scoop. “I think I have an idea!”

“Oh? This should be good.” Hisoka sinks back against the pillows and pats the bed invitingly.  

Gon watches Hisoka for a moment, silently testing to see if this is a trick. Judging by Hisoka’s slight frown, it’s not. He sits down, enjoying the way the mattress bounces beneath his weight.

“Here’s the plan,” he says, curling his knees underneath him and leaning forward. “When Chrollo shows up, we’ll put on a magic show for him first.”

“A literal one, or figuratively?” Hisoka seems amused by either option.

“Literal. Every trick that he’d like, and anything to get his curiosity going! He’ll be expecting a fight—so we won’t give him one.”

“What a pity…then again, he knows how to kill me. We would both be bored. Go on.”

“You said that he steals _Hatsu_ , right? So we’ll offer him my Jajanken!”

It doesn’t seem to register at first. Then after a long pause, Hisoka’s eyes widen, and his body tenses. He looks like he’s just watched Gon willingly blind himself.

“ _No._ ”

“Let me explain,” Gon grumbles, wanting to kick himself for not seeing this coming. “I’m guessing he can only steal _Hatsu_ if the _Nen_ user’s in good health, right? So if _I_ can’t use Jajanken—”

“—Unfortunately for you, that isn’t how it works.” Hisoka’s eerily bland expression is back. “If he has your name written in the book, and the name of your _Hatsu_ , he can steal it for his own. It wouldn’t matter if you could use it or not, because by then it would be his.”

“…Oh.”

In an instant, Gon’s plan shatters. He stares down at his hands as they slowly clench on his lap. Somehow, the movement isn’t as pleasant or comforting as it usually is.

Hisoka disrupts Gon’s muddied train of thought. “I quite like the magic show idea, though. We just need to think of a different finale.”

That makes Gon feel a little better. “Let’s call Kurapika and see what he thinks!”

Once they have Gon’s speakerphone set up, they manage to get ahold of Kurapika remarkably easily.

Gon explains their plan and waits for Kurapika’s answer. From the drawn-out hum that crackles on the other end, it looks like Kurapika’s having a hard time following his logic.

Thankfully, he’s soon mistaken.

“ _That idea sounds crazy, but Chrollo could well fall for it. As for what to offer to get him to come to me…I’m not sure._ ”

Hisoka begins lazily bouncing a strand of Bungee Gum from his finger, his expression thoughtful as the strand bobs up and down. “Perhaps if we told him there was hidden treasure somewhere on the island?”

“ _He’ll want to know what kind of treasure. He won’t search for playing cards._ ”

Hisoka actually scowls in offense.

Gon hastily steps in.

“Um…maybe whatever weapons are left from the Hunter Exam?” He thinks of the poisoned blow-dart that nearly did him in and winces. “…Or not. The Hunter’s Association wouldn’t just leave things like that lying around!”

After they toss more ideas about with little success, Hisoka finally hits on something.

“…An opponent stronger than me, and powerful enough to kill him.” He leans forward with a sneaky glint in his eye. “That’s someone he’s been _aching_ to meet again for some time now. In other words…”

Gon grins back. “Kurapika!”

Kurapika’s small gasp _crackles_ over the line. “ _How can that be, when he’s been avoiding me for years?_ ”

“I’m not sure ‘avoiding’ is the right word,” Hisoka drawls, the Bungee Gum strand now swinging like a pendulum. “Chrollo is a busy man, you know. He expects people to come to _him_ more often than not.”

“ _Well, then,_ ” Kurapika’s intensity can be felt even over the phone. “ _That makes things easier. Perhaps the magic tricks won’t be necessary—tell him I’m on the island, and that’s that._ ”

“Will he believe us right away?” Gon doubts it.

“If _you_ tell him, yes,” Hisoka says with quiet confidence. “He knows how trustworthy you are.”

“That’s a lot of pressure! And what happens if he’s changed his mind about me?”

Hisoka smirks. “Kurapika will burst out of hiding and defend your honor, obviously.”

“ _I’d be glad to, but…why me, Hisoka?_ ”

“He wouldn’t believe me: I’m his least favorite magician.”

Gon gives him an aside glance. “Are you trying to be lazy again?”

“Didn’t _you_ say you wanted to not be protected all the time?”

“ _I can’t believe it,_ ” Kurapika groans. “ _You two are actually_ flirting. _What’s the world coming to?_ ”

Gon takes the hint and turns the subject back on topic. “What do you think, Kurapika? Is this a good plan?”

“ _It could do with a few more passes. When do you think you’ll get to Zevil Island?_ ”

“Two days, at the most,” Hisoka says. “Will that do?”

“ _Yes._ ” There’s a muffled noise on Kurapika’s end. “ _…I have to go. I’ll contact you tomorrow._ ”

“Okay!” Gon wishes he could stay on longer, but he keeps that selfish wish to himself for once. “Do your best, Kurapika!”

Kurapika’s chuckle is weary, but fond. “ _Understood. Until then._ ”

He hangs up, leaving Hisoka and Gon with their thoughts.

“That went well,” Hisoka says, as Gon puts away his phone.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly aware that he can feel every movement of Hisoka’s body through the mattress. “Thanks for—well, helping with this.”

“It’s no trouble.” It looks like he means it.

“Hey, Hisoka?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t think we really need to be on Zevil Island for this plan to work. We could just call Chrollo, right?”

Hisoka’s eyelids flicker in thought. “Possibly. Which means that Kurapika has his own reasons for taking your offer.”

Gon manages a laugh. “What, you think he missed me?”

Hisoka’s eyes crinkle a little at the edges. “Who wouldn’t?”

Once again, Gon’s faced with a shockingly kind gesture from the most battle-hungry person he knows. Somehow, he finds an answer.

“Thanks, I guess.”

The Bungee Gum vanishes, and Hisoka rests his hands on his knees.

Gon can’t help but stare at them again, how they still look so elegant even after being in so many fights. He forces his gaze away, not wanting to be rude.

Hisoka chuckles. “Now’s your chance. Go ahead…” His voice is a whisper, offering a taste of intimacy.

Gon doesn’t hesitate. He reaches out for Hisoka’s hand and takes it, his tan fingers curling around Hisoka’s pale wrist. Without thinking about it, he slowly shifts his hand so that their fingers intertwine. He smiles at the feeling of Hisoka’s rhythmic pulse against his palm.

“Hm. Well this is surprisingly tender,” Hisoka says, a slight thickness to his voice.

“Want me to let go?” Gon asks, his hand already pulling away.

But Hisoka gently tugs it back, his fingers rubbing against Gon’s skin. “No, not yet. It’s…interesting.”

Gon notes the slight creases in the bones of Hisoka’s fingers, clear markers of previous injuries. The heat of their joined hands makes his palm grow slick with sweat, but somehow he doesn’t mind.

He glances up at Hisoka and watches those sun-bright eyes drink him in without a shred of shame. Surprisingly, it doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable. Rather, it reminds him of when he gave Hisoka a massage, how Hisoka looked down at him with a melting gaze.

“Do you like kissing, Hisoka?” Gon asks, because this seems like the perfect time for it.

Hisoka’s lips curl invitingly. “Come closer and find out.”

Gon lets out a breathy laugh as Hisoka tugs him into his warm lap. The air is heavy with expectation. He has to let go of Hisoka’s hand to steady himself, and he shivers at the warm glide of cotton blankets beneath his palms.

He barely has to lift his head to meet Hisoka’s gaze. He’s surprised, somehow, that this moment is happening _here_ , and not in a Heaven’s Arena hotel room—

“—Did you enjoy your fight with Kalluto today, Gon?” Hisoka whispers, his breath tickling Gon’s cheek.

“ _Oh_.” Gon understands now. He chuckles wryly. “It was a fight with impossible odds—of course I liked it! Kalluto was relentless, but he’s got a ways to go…”

Hisoka isn’t even _trying_ to keep the discussion platonic. A red blush is already covering his cheeks. “The way you blocked him at every turn—”

“—The way he nearly cut my head off—”

“—The way you— _mmph!_ ”

Gon’s patience runs out; he cups Hisoka’s face in his hands and kisses him hard on the mouth. Hisoka’s lips are remarkably smooth and soft, for someone who’s probably had them split open from a punch a thousand times. He’s not one to just sit there like a dead fish, either: he ensures the kiss is long, slow and increasingly deep.

Hisoka’s hands glide over Gon’s back, stroking softly up and down in a sensual rhythm. His nails scrape Gon’s skin, and the ticklish sensation sends a dark shiver down Gon’s spine.

He feels Hisoka glide back against the pillows, sinking down, down, and taking Gon with him. He doesn’t mind in the slightest.

They pause to catch their breath—and the first thing Hisoka does is moan in Gon’s ear.

“I waited so _long_ for this,” Hisoka murmurs, his words heating Gon’s ear. “But it’s been worth the wait…”

Gon can’t form a reply right now, not while Hisoka’s nibbling his jawline, running his fingers slowly through Gon’s scalp, sending tingles down his neck.

“Shivering already? _My_ , what a sight you are. Hmm…what happens if I…?”

Hisoka’s lips make their way back to Gon’s ear and suddenly there’s wet heat and tongue against him. It’s stupidly simple but completely overwhelming.

_The whispering alone is going to kill me, I just know it!_

“Mm, I can feel you reacting…how much more can you stand, I wonder? Oh, don’t worry about your shirt. See? I can slip…my hand…beneath it. Is it cold? Sorry, sorry. Hmm, but now your skin’s warming my fingers, how pleasant…”

Gon finally manages to say something. “You—teasing _bastard_!”

Hisoka’s careless chuckle vibrates against Gon’s skin, making his predicament even worse. “And yet, are you really surprised?” He kisses the tip of Gon’s sensitive ear and makes a soft, purposeful hum of pleasure deep in his throat.

Gon remembers too late: Hisoka knows how sensitive he is to sound and touch. And he’s _exactly_ the type to take advantage of it.

\---

Hours later, Gon covers his face with his hands, heedless of how sweaty he is. He peers through the gaps of his fingers like they’re the bars of a cell then slowly lets them fall.

“What’s the matter?” Hisoka asks, sprawled out luxuriously with hickeys and a tapestry of bruises decorating his chest, and everywhere else Gon could reach. “Survey your good work.  _And_ …” He wiggles his fingers playfully. “…Relish how you finally enjoyed my fingers to your heart’s content.”

Unconsciously, Gon raises his own fingers to his swollen lips, the gentle touch bringing to mind what happened with sweet, sharp clarity. His lips curl and tickle his thumb.

“But—I wasn’t too fast?”

Hisoka offers him a lazy smile. “You were good. Very gentlemanly, in fact.”

Gon boggles. “Our teeth bumped together; I accidentally kneed you in the belly!”

“And we’re both still intact, well done.”

“Oh. Good point.” Gon rolls his neck from side to side, in the mood for a bath. “Next time, I’m sure you’ll be rougher.”

Hisoka raises an eyebrow. “Do you want a promise?”

Gon thinks it over, well aware that Hisoka would absolutely do that. “…That’d be dangerous. How about using _Nen_ instead?”

Hisoka chuckles low in his throat. “Consider it noted.”

With that settled, Gon hops off the bed and strolls over to the bathroom, not even bothering to get dressed. _It’s not like we have any place to go._

The bathroom is simple, with walls identical to the bedroom and white and blue checkered tiles along the bath for flavor.

As Gon turns on the cool water, he glances at himself in the mirror. He’s unsurprised by what he sees—the eye-patch is still in place, and he can see his hair’s mussed from Hisoka burying his fingers into the dark strands. It’s strange—he expected to feel changed after he and Hisoka had their first time together, but instead he feels the same thrumming undercurrent of pleasure and fulfillment that he’s felt with others. _Well, maybe it’s a_ little _different—it feels like we’re on the same playing field now. That tension’s gone down._

Gon quickly decides that he has more important things to think about. Ensuring Chrollo’s defeat goes smoothly, for example. They may have something resembling a solid plan of attack, but if there’s one thing Gon’s learned over the years it’s that something _always_ goes wrong.

 _And after that, then what?_ Gon pauses in the middle of soaping his hair. It’s a good point—maybe Gon could convince Kurapika to travel with them, but he doubts it (there’s no fun in being a third wheel). Finally he shrugs and keeps washing.

 _Hisoka and I’ll find_ something _to do. All we need to do is get out of this alive._

\---

Two days pass quickly, in a blur of plan-refining and spending hours at a time in bed. (Gon wanted to try sex against a wall, but unfortunately both he and Hisoka are too heavy for that. The bath was fun, though.) Gon is surprised by Hisoka’s restraint, as if despite having clearly “waited so long” he seems equally content to take his time savoring their moments together.

The evening before Gon and Hisoka arrive at Zevil Island, they call Kurapika one more time to finalize the plan.

“ _Unfortunately, Gon, I think the magic show will only slow us down,_ ” Kurapika says apologetically.

Gon expected that. “That’s fine! I’ll show off to you instead, how’s that?”

“ _I look forward to it. But telling Chrollo about me seems the most doable part of the plan so far._ ”

Hisoka slides into the conversation. “The problem, of course, is how to tell him this before he tries to kill us—or steal our _Nen._ ”

This is the part they’ve been stuck on. Thoughtful silence fills the air. Gon hopes that _this_ time someone thinks of something, before he and Hisoka have to disembark. While he’s aware Hisoka can think of plans on the fly without a problem, he suspects that Chrollo’s defeat of him has made him more careful.

After what feels like forever, it’s Kurapika who stumbles across an idea.

“ _Hisoka, how long can you use_ Zetsu _?_ ”

Hisoka cocks his head to one side thoughtfully. “Two hours, perhaps three. That’s the average length of time for most _Nen_ users.” A sly smile glides across his face. “I see, you want me to hide, so that Chrollo doesn’t get suspicious. Clever, _clever_ …”

Gon grins. “That’s a great idea, Kurapika!”

“ _…It’s nothing. Having someone lure him to me is an idea I considered before, but never put into action._ ”

Gon considers asking why, but he soon discovers the answer: people who could get close to Chrollo, whether as a spy or in a fight, rarely seem to do so for long.

Hisoka seems to have come to that conclusion too. “We’re honored to be your meat shield, Kurapika.” His serene voice holds a trace of needling sarcasm.

“ _It’s not like that, and you know it. If I had my way, Gon would never have gotten into this—but he is, and so we must weather it._ ”

“Aww, and yet you expected me? Gon, your friend is so cruel!”

His chest prickling with annoyance, Gon rolls his eye so intensely he can feel the muscles strain a little. “You’re really not helping, Hisoka.”

And yet Gon expected nothing less, in the end—Kurapika is clever, Hisoka is sneaky, Gon is forthright, and somehow they’ve made a plan together. _Weirder things have happened, I’m sure._

\---

Zevil Island is as serenely wild as Gon remembers. The grass is a rich, deep green from recent rainfall, and when the breeze is right he can catch the coppery tang of blood somewhere in the distance. Just setting foot in this place again makes his heart ache with bittersweet nostalgia—which Hisoka seems to notice and quietly acknowledge.

“Now, then,” Hisoka says, shielding his eyes from the rising sun’s rays, “Kurapika said he was going to be on the smallest island, which would be…”

Gon points North. “That way. If we stay here, on the biggest island, to meet Chrollo, that’ll give Kurapika time to prepare—I hope.”

Hisoka grins. “Chrollo can be fast, certainly, but Kurapika’s spent all his life trying to kill him. He’ll have prepared long before Chrollo arrives on the scene.”

It’s a hopeful thought, and definitely appreciated. “Thanks. Hey—Hisoka?”

Hisoka pauses, one foot before the other as he prepares to enter the forest. “Yes?”

Gon tries to figure out how to phrase this. He gives up and asks upfront: “What’ll you do if or when Kurapika kills Chrollo?”

Hisoka turns delicately on his heel to face him, his expression unreadable. It takes awhile for him to actually answer—and it’s unclear if the wait is meant to tease Gon or simply because he needs to think it over.

“Well,” he finally says, one hip tilted provocatively. “What do _you_ think will happen, Gon?”

“You won’t care.”

“And why is that?” Hisoka purrs, the sound making the hairs on Gon’s neck rise.

“Because you’ve already tried to beat Chrollo and lost. And…”

Somehow, it’s difficult to state his other suspicion. It’s too good to be true. And if it _is_ true, then this simple travelling arrangement is more complicated than Gon had expected.

“You can say it, Gon,” Hisoka says, utterly unfazed. “I won’t be offended.”

“And you have me to fight, one day,” Gon finally says, the words weighing on his tongue like a promise.

“One day?” Hisoka’s eyes are bright with amusement. “Did our previous bouts not count?”

“Of course they did, I just meant a _serious_ fight!”

“Oh, I see. Well, with your _Nen_ the way it is, I don’t mind protecting you until that time comes.”

For once—possibly because of the confrontation to come—Gon finds Hisoka’s desire to protect him a comfort.

Fortunately for them, Zevil Island is warm for the autumn months, which means that sleeping outdoors isn’t a problem. Gon gathers firewood while Hisoka searches for food, the sounds of their travels carrying through the forest.

As Gon ducks out of the way of a low-hanging tree branch, he finds his thoughts drifting to his eye-patch again. Like the sweetness of hot cocoa that hits you only after the warmth of it, he finds himself surprised that Hisoka hasn’t removed his eye-patch yet. Even when Gon’s naked, Hisoka never makes a move to pull the patch off. _It’s…surprisingly nice of him to do that. He remembered how uncomfortable I was about it and didn’t try to push me, even though he could._

Gon focuses his mind toward wood foraging. It doesn’t take long before he finds a good specimen: a dead oak tree. He sizes it up, noting the nonexistent leaves and how thin the trunk is.

Turning to one side, he slides into a fighting stance.

As his hands _thwack_ against the bark, the tree gives way. Shards of pinkish-white wood and gray bark come loose, but thankfully don’t hit him. (Even if he can’t use _Nen_ , Bisky’s relentless training paid off in mundane ways too.)

“ _Timber_!” he calls out, just in case Hisoka’s nearby.

 _Whumph_. The tree falls before Gon, branches shaking like they’re in their death throes.

Once he’s sure that Hisoka’s far away and didn’t get squished like a bug, Gon begins chopping the tree into smaller chunks of wood from bottom to top. He hums off-key, eyes and ears peeled for any animals (or Hisoka) passing through. Every so often, he hears birds flapping overhead, their shadows dappling his back.

After he scoops up his new logs and picks his way back to their campsite, it finally occurs to him why Hisoka’s been so careful about his eye-patch: _He wants me to remove it and show him the scars on my own._

It makes sense; Hisoka has always tested Gon in ways large and small, has always pushed him to become stronger until they can fight as true equals. This is just another step on the ladder of strength.

As a soft, tropical breeze swirls against Gon’s face and hair, he feels the skin around his eye-patch heat slightly, as if the scars beneath are yearning to feel the open air.

\---

When Gon returns to the camp, Hisoka’s already brought food: nuts and fruits in a variety of shapes and sizes, as well as two rabbits ready to be spit-roasted.

The sun’s rays illuminate Hisoka’s skin in a white, unearthly glow. Judging by the droplets dangling like seeds from his fingers, he washed his hands in the nearby river after cleaning the rabbits.

Since Hisoka helpfully already dug out a fire pit, Gon tosses a few logs into the shallow hole, lights some matches—and now they have a fire.

As Gon begins carefully turning the rabbits’ spit, Hisoka seems to be off in his own world, a dreamy smile on his face. It’s not _that_ strange, but Gon can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about.

Before Gon can ask, though, Hisoka lifts his head and poses a question of his own:

“Gon, do you want to learn another way to cut a deck?”

“Sure,” Gon says, a little surprised that it isn’t a magic trick.

Hisoka looks pleased as a deck of cards _poofs_ into his hand. “I’ll show you a pivot cut—it looks flashy, but is rather simple once you practice.”

He holds the deck above his palm, with all five fingers curled slightly.

“This is a straddle grip,” Hisoka explains, holding out his hand for Gon to get a better look. “No doubt you’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah, but I never knew it had a name—it sounds like a _Hatsu_!”

Hisoka blinks in surprise then chuckles. “Good observation. Now, watch carefully…”

He rests his fingers on the top edge of the deck, and his thumb on the bottom edge. His index finger is curled on top, a gesture too blatant for a normal performance—or so Gon thinks.

It turns out to be what helps separate the deck into two parts, which Hisoka somehow manages to make even. Gon leans forward, trying not to blink. Then things get confusing: Hisoka manages to turn the cards yet also clearly shuffle them.

Gon stares at the cards, then at Hisoka and gets the distinct suspicion that he _almost_ understands, but not quite.

“I’ll do it again,” Hisoka says softly.

This time he’s a little slower, his cards and fingers moving with practiced ease. His little finger and thumb stretch almost as far as humanly possible, and the split decks go with them. Then they’re shuffled again.

“Oh!” Gon points at Hisoka’s hand. “When you shuffle, you reverse your thumb and little finger’s motions!”

“That’s right, well done.” Hisoka smiles slightly. “It helps to have strong fingers, of course—I used to practice this five times in a row, six if I felt particularly determined.”

“Huh. Is that why you can push your fingers back together when they’re broken?”

“Partially.” Long, pale fingers flex, curl and uncurl, one after the other. “The other reason is that I have ‘ridiculous pain tolerance’, according to one Heaven’s Arena commentator some years ago.”

“You notice what the commentators are saying during a match? Seriously? I thought you’d be too focused on the fight!”

Hisoka shrugs one shoulder. “It was one of my first. My ACL had just torn completely—it’s the ligament that connects your knee bone to your lower leg—and I only noticed after I tried to kick my opponent. It was funny, like having a heavy noodle glued to your leg.”

“I bet,” Gon says, imagining a younger Hisoka flopping his twisted knee around and laughing. “The audience must’ve felt differently, though!”

“Oh, no,” Hisoka says fondly. “No, the audience at Heaven’s Arena never fails to disappoint.”  

Gon understands completely. “We really should go back there again.”

“Mmm…yes, after this business is done.”

The opportunity makes Gon shiver with delight—they could room together, but they could also fight against each other and give Heaven’s Arena a long-awaited rematch. The possibilities are endless, and Gon wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Anyway, do you want to try the pivot cut?” Hisoka asks, holding out his deck in a relaxed, easy hold. “I can turn the spit.”

Gon nods eagerly, and takes the cards from Hisoka with careful hands to avoid accidentally dropping them in the fire.

While Gon’s fingers _are_ strong, he’s surprised at how difficult it is to stretch and bend them as far as he can without dislocating them. But he doesn’t give up: he simply takes a brief rest after each attempt. He can feel his fingers’ bones and ligaments strain and occasionally grow taut beneath his skin; it’s a little creepy, but fascinating too, so he doesn’t mind.

Once the rabbits are done (slightly burnt on one side, thanks to Hisoka), Gon reluctantly leaves his practicing to eat. The meat is cooked all the way through, chewier than chicken, but very savory even without any spices on it. _We should use the berries for dinner!_

Gon glances over at Hisoka from time to time and notes that while Aunt Mito would approve of his table manners, she’d be worried about his birdlike eating.

Gon finishes his rabbit and is sizing up the fruits when his beetle phone rings. He retrieves it from his pocket, and is pleased to see it’s Kurapika calling. Remembering to be polite, he gets up and moves a short distance away. He leans against the rough bark of a tree and picks up.

“Hi, Kurapika!”

“ _Hello, Gon. I’m at the little island—are you nearby?_ ”

“Yeah, we’re in the forest nearest to you. You sure got here fast—how’d that happen?”

“ _Well, where I was staying isn’t that far away from Zevil Island, so finding an airship willing to take me was easy._ ”

There’s clearly a lot Kurapika isn’t saying, but Gon decides it’s not important.

“I can come visit, if you want—we have plenty of food, so I can bring some for you!” Gon glances toward Hisoka to check if it’s okay.

Hisoka gives his belly a melodramatic pat, to show he doesn’t mind.

“ _Oh! Thank you, that would be good. I…I look forward to seeing you._ ”

Gon smiles wistfully and agrees.

\---

Gon makes it to the little island in the span of a few well-timed leaps from the shore. It’s a quiet place, but instead of being tranquil like the rest of Zevil Island, the silence is eerie, like the trees are watching Gon’s arrival with knowing eyes. _No wonder Kurapika wanted this one, it feels like Chrollo’s been here already._

Gon rests his burlap bag full of fruit and nuts on the sandy ground beside him, far away from the water’s edge. It’d be a waste of effort if the waves snatched it away.

He senses Kurapika’s aura coming closer, and is surprised by the strange sensation that clings to it. It brings to mind empty, barren places, or funeral ceremonies, but at the same time there’s a determined undercurrent to the dreariness. He finds it hard to pin down, but then Kurapika always is.

“That suit looks good on you,” Gon says as Kurapika steps out of the green undergrowth toward him.

“Thank you.” Kurapika’s lips seem to struggle to form a smile. His hair is paler than before, and so is his skin.

But Gon soon disregards that; he’s too busy running toward Kurapika and enveloping him in a hug.

He’s a little taller than Kurapika now, and broader—Hisoka’s not the only one eating poorly, it seems. Still, Kurapika’s skin is warm beneath his black suit, and that warmth spreads to both their bodies, companionable and familiar.

Kurapika’s arms seem a little stiff against Gon’s back, and all too quickly he lets go, stepping back two paces. He’s wearing black contacts this time.

“Where are you camping, Kurapika?”

“A short ways away—I found a hollowed-out tree that can serve as a dry place when it rains.”

They begin to stroll around the island, munching on some of the red berries Gon brought and chatting aimlessly; they didn’t have time for this sort of thing before, and so Gon cherishes it. He tracks Kurapika’s posture, how despite his voice being calm his arms and legs are stiff, as if he’s waiting for some disaster to befall them. He watches Kurapika’s eyes, the dark circles beneath them and the fading, distracted look within. He wonders: if Kurapika took off the contacts, would they be brown or scarlet?

Kurapika seems to guess Gon’s question; his laughter is a soft exhale as he tilts his head toward Gon. “That worried face doesn’t suit you. I don’t mind letting you see.”

Gon stops walking. They’re on a root-riddled path, flanked by a guard of sun-dappled trees. There’s a chilled bite to the air, and when Gon breathes in the ice settles into his lungs like a stone.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Then I’ll show you my eye too. We both need to acknowledge the changes.”

There’s no uncertain pause this time. Kurapika nods and reaches up to remove his contacts; Gon takes the opportunity to tug off his eye-patch. He turns his head to give Kurapika a better view.

Kurapika lets out a soft sigh. “Good, the scars healed well. It’s not as horrible as what my mind conjured up.”

“Yeah, I’ve been noticing that too.” With that, Gon turns his head back to look at Kurapika.

His heart lurches in his chest. He’s gazing at harsh, brilliant scarlet, like blood infused with neon.

“It never goes away,” Kurapika says softly, his lips quirked in a bitter smile. “Apparently, my control has grown worse over time, not better.”

“…But why?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s something that happens to my people, and I never thought to ask.” Those intense eyes glance up, as if expecting an answer from somewhere distant. “I never thought to ask about many things.”

In his gut, Gon knows something’s up. Or rather, he’s known for a long time now, and hasn’t acknowledged it. He won’t be seeing Kurapika often after this…or ever again. The harsh reality of it settles in his throat, thick and acidic.

“Teach me, then,” he manages to say, despite the burning feeling. “Teach me about the Kurta traditions.”

Kurapika looks at Gon directly, his eyes a fraction wider than normal. Then they close, like floodlights being turned off, and he smiles softly.

“I have a series of books coming out, founded by the Hunter Association. They’re called _The Kurta Clans History and Practices_ —very simple, I know, but that would please my people—”

Gon steps forward on unsteady legs and rests trembling hands on Kurapika’s shoulders. His fingers dig into the cotton fabric but not the skin beneath.

“Kurapika, I _won’t_ let you die tomorrow…!”

Those scarlet eyes are still closed. “Good. I don’t intend to.” It sounds like a lie, but it’s hidden beneath a sarcastic veil of truth.

“Then why do I feel like this is goodbye?!”

Kurapika’s eyes open, and Gon tries not to flinch away. His expression is collected, perfectly neutral, and clashes violently with his eye color.

“We were never meant for the same path, Gon. And that’s alright. But…let’s enjoy our time together, the way we used to.”

In the back of his head, Gon’s aware that he could knock Kurapika out, break his arms and legs, any number of things to ensure Kurapika won’t complete his revenge. But he’s equally aware that he can’t, _won’t_ do any of it, because Kurapika’s his friend and this is the path he chose a long time ago.

He won’t repeat his mistakes, not this time.

Heat pricks at his eyes. His vision blurs.

“Why did you take my offer, Kurapika?”

There’s a pause taut with consideration. Then:

“I wanted to see you again, and know that you’re happy. That’s all. Are you happy, Gon?”

Gon sniffs loudly and nods. “…Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Kurapika's smile is genuine as he pulls Gon into a brief hug. He detaches just as quickly, before the warmth can set in. He looks hazy in Gon’s vision.

“Thanks, Kurapika.”

“You’re welcome." Then, in a lighter tone: "Say, you told me Hisoka taught you a magic trick. I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind?”

Gon lets out a hoarse laugh and wipes his tears away. “…Sure, I’d be happy to!”

He does his best. He tries the pivot cut for the first time (and gets it as close to right as he can manage), but the point is to get the same card as Kurapika, so he doesn’t show off _too_ much. When Gon finishes his trick successfully, Kurapika’s smile and polite-yet-enthusiastic clapping seem to reverberate in the hollow of Gon’s chest. He manages to cover it with a Hisoka-esque bow.

Time passes, and he still hasn’t put on his eye-patch.

“I had fun,” Gon says, as he and Kurapika wind back to where they started. “Let’s do this again, okay?”

“Yes.” Kurapika’s smile is tinged with determination. “Good luck tomorrow, Gon.”

Gon mirrors his expression. “And to you!”

With that, Gon waves goodbye and heads back to Hisoka. His heart feels weighted down with conflicting emotions, but in the end he settles on relief. He managed to see Kurapika, after all, and that counts for something.

\---

Hisoka’s watching the sunset when Gon returns. The fading light casts him in burnt orange and deep purple; it’s only the imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders that marks him as alive.

“I’m back,” Gon says, though he knows it isn’t necessary—Hisoka probably sensed him from a mile away or more.

With the ease and grace of a panther, Hisoka turns his head to look at him. His expression shifts from pleasure to shock in an instant.

“Gon, where is your eye-patch…?”

The question hits Gon like a punch. Then he remembers he’s holding the eye-patch loosely between his fingers, like the accessory that it is. _Compared to Kurapika, I have it easy, anyway._

“It’s here,” Gon says, holding up his hand to show Hisoka. “I wanted to show Kurapika how well it’s been healing, since he didn’t believe me before. And…well, I can’t be ashamed of these scars forever, can I?”

Hisoka drapes his arm over his knee, a familiar relaxed position. “Acknowledging that, and moving away from it…many people wish they could feel that way.”

Gon laughs, feeling embarrassment prickle at his skin. “You think so? Maybe I’m just weird!”

Hisoka shrugs and smiles. “‘Weird’ can be useful. Hmm…Gon, come closer, won’t you? I want to see those scars better.”

He does, ambling forward with the knowledge that Hisoka will either A) ramble about how beautiful they are until Gon shuts him up, or B) find them less impressive than expected, or C) dislike the scars because he didn’t make them.

_Hope it’s one of the first two…_

As soon as Gon’s close enough, Hisoka gets into a kneeling position and slowly reaches for Gon’s face. His lukewarm fingers brush where the scars end, close to his ear, and he stares at Gon with rapt attentiveness.

“Wonderful,” Hisoka says, his lips curling upwards. “Kurapika does have quite a theatrical flair, doesn’t he?” Slowly, gently, his fingers brush against the curling tip of the scar. “See, it’s like a flourish.”

The sensation may be dulled compared to the rest of Gon, but he can’t help but tentatively respond. His whole body seems to sigh with relief, though he doesn’t say anything.

Hisoka seems to understand what this means to him. This moment feels like a prelude to tomorrow’s events, a grounding meditation meant to calm and prepare both of them.

“I should put it back on,” Gon says, gesturing to his eye-patch. “It gets uncomfortable after awhile if I don’t.”

Hisoka looks ready to pout, but it seems he understands the point soon enough. He nods in lazy agreement and pulls back, letting his hands rest comfortably in his lap.

Gon slips the eye-patch back in its proper place, the slight pressure against his skin feeling like a protection for the elements instead of a mark of shame. It’s a comfort. _Which is what it should’ve been all along._

Hisoka’s gaze pierces right through him, and after a period of silence he says “It looks better on you, now.”

“Thanks!” Gon grins and plops down on the ground beside him. “Oh, by the way, do you have any other magic tricks I can learn?”

“Of course.” Hisoka changes position, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll show you in a moment. For now, I would rather hear about Kurapika.”

As Gon slowly explains what happened, the sun finishes its descent. The stars slowly glow to life above them, and the moon rises up, illuminating Zevil Island in bleached-bone white. 

If Gon focuses hard enough, he can feel Kurapika’s aura in the distance, perfectly controlled, never spiking or fading, always at the same dark hum.

Farther away, but drawing closer, he can sense what has to be Chrollo’s aura. He carefully ignores the similarities between the two.

\---

When Gon wakes up, he can’t sense Hisoka. His heart lurches for a moment—then he realizes Hisoka’s using _Zetsu_ , and the warmth of his body is pressed against Gon’s back. _Just like last night._

“Chrollo’s coming,” Hisoka says, as if talking about a late arrival to a party.

Gon nods and slowly sits up, already wide awake. “Do I have time to eat?”

Hisoka responds by handing him two orange and purple-striped fruits.

“Thanks,” Gon says, and digs in, taking big bites of the waxy skin and tart, violet flesh beneath.

“Chrollo wouldn’t mind waiting; he’s always lost in thought anyway, even if there’s something important going on.”

Gon remembers something similar happening at Yorknew. As he manages to eat at a steady pace, he keeps his senses peeled for Chrollo’s arrival.

“He came by boat—I was expecting a hot air balloon, but perhaps this is safer.” Hisoka stands and stretches his arms over his head, his hands blocking the cold morning sunlight momentarily. “On that note, time to go.”

Gon wipes his mouth with his thumb and grins. “I’m surprised it took you this long! Well, at least you told me first.”

Hisoka chuckles and rests his hands on his hips. “That’s the spirit. I’ll be close by—I don’t want to miss _this._ ”

In a mix of whim and worry, Gon reaches out for Hisoka’s right hand and squeezes.

“Hey, don’t do anything stupid, got it?”

“…The same could be said of you.”

Hisoka doesn’t move away, however. It’s only when Chrollo’s presence becomes impossible to ignore that he flits away into the trees, leaving Gon alone.

Gon breathes in, out, in, letting the cool, crisp morning air calm his mind and try to prepare him for what’s to come.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention when Chrollo glides into view, wearing the same outfit from Yorknew. Despite not wearing a shirt in this chilly air, Chrollo’s black fur-lined trenchcoat seems to keep him warm—or maybe it’s his confidence that protects him, that he can steal and kill as much as he wants and no one can stop him. That’s what his unblinking grey eyes have always claimed, anyway.

That’s what they say now, as he stops before Gon like he owns the place. His too-perfect lips are resting somewhere between a smile and a neutral frown, as expected of someone with better things to do.

_That’s fine by me._

Chrollo begins the conversation: “You nearly killed one of my Troupe. That wasn’t wise.”

Gon scowls. “Kalluto picked the fight, not me. And since he wasn’t obeying orders, doesn’t that bother you?”

Chrollo’s brows furrow slightly. “Somewhat. But then again, there wasn’t a mission involved—members can do whatever they want when there isn’t a job to do.” His gaze turns toward the fruits and berries. “Is that your breakfast?”

“Yeah. You want some?” There’s no need to be rude to a guy who could and would steal whatever he wants, whether or not you gave permission.

Chrollo nods and scoops up some of the nuts, looking them over thoughtfully before easily pinching the shells open with his fingers. One-two-three, the shells _crack_ one at a time and he scoops out his prize with something resembling satisfaction.

Gon watches Chrollo pop the nuts in his mouth and chew slowly. He knows this is a small way of establishing dominance, and normally he wouldn’t just stand still like a statue; but in order for the plan to work he needs to be _just_ obstinate and boring enough that Chrollo's attention will go elsewhere.

“Did you know,” Chrollo says after swallowing, “that walnuts are the oldest tree-based food? And it can grow almost anywhere. It’s a little like humanity that way.”

“Cool!” Gon says, because it is.

“That’s a genuine response—interesting.”

Gon scoops up another fruit and begins walking toward Kurapika’s island, keeping an eye on Chrollo the entire time.

“We can walk and talk, right?” he asks, doing his best to keep his body language casual.

“Of course. It’s a pleasant enough day for a stroll.”

Before joining him, Chrollo eats the rest of the nuts in one sitting, which strikes Gon as odd at first. A moment later he realizes: _This way he doesn’t accidentally waste food! Killua and Hisoka do that sometimes too._

With that settled, Chrollo strolls along beside Gon, still chatting away about walnuts for some reason; Gon adds in his own two cents from time to time (mostly things he learned while living at Whale Island), and finds that Chrollo seems intensely interested in what he has to say. It’s not like with Hisoka, where he seems to enjoy how or why Gon says things as well as the actual words. No, Chrollo seems laser-focused on the _knowledge_ , on learning and refuting information. Gon himself is secondary—which is fine by him, he wants nothing to do with the Phantom Troupe if he can help it.

“Hmm, so you’re saying that while raw walnuts can be eaten, acorns need to be cooked.” Chrollo speaks this like he’s etching it into his memory. “That is good to know.”

“I figured you already knew about it. Glad I could teach you something!”

“If one looks hard enough, one can learn from everyone in the world.” Chrollo sounds almost optimistic—and it’s instantly suspicious.

“Are you trying to scout me?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Thanks to you, I _am_ short a Spider limb. And Kalluto was a fine addition to our family.”

The word _family_ still sounds hideously wrong when applied to the Phantom Troupe, and Gon’s hackles rise.

“I said it before, I’ll never join you!”

“That stubborn individuality is exactly what Nobu likes in you—and I can see why.” Chrollo sighs delicately. “But if you insist…”

The conversation trails off, and Gon feels as awkward as he did when he snagged Hisoka’s arm with his fishing hook. As cold sweat trickles down his neck, he wipes it off and forces himself to think of something to say.

Chrollo decides to save him. “I have a question.”

“…What is it?” Gon prepares for something complicated.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

“That’s easy. A killer, a monster.”

It seems to amuse him. “I see. I should have known.”

There’s a hint of weariness to Chrollo’s voice that piques Gon’s curiosity.

“What’d you hope I’d say?”

“I was hoping for ‘human’, but perhaps that’s too large a leap to you. Ah…but at the same time, you seem to think of Hisoka as human. Why?”

“He doesn’t pretend,” Gon says, wondering if Hisoka’s listening in on their talk. “Hisoka just fights and tricks people because it makes him…happy. He’s”—Gon searches for the right phrase—“honest in a sneaky way!”

Chrollo nods, absorbing this information. “He certainly is.” His unblinking stare is growing ever more unnerving. “Then are you ‘sneaky in an honest way’?”

Gon can’t help laughing at that. “Nope, I’m too stupid for that!”

“Truly? I heard you can be very clever when you wish to be.”

Gon points to his eye-patch. “Why do I have this, then?”

“Ah. Yes, perhaps I’m mistaken.”

 _Whew! He was getting a little_ too _close to the truth, there. Time to change the subject!_

“So earlier, you said there’s a religion around walnut trees?” A tree-based religion sounds very enjoyable, actually—something Hisoka would like.

Chrollo makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. “Not quite. Rather, there are Bible verses that mention walnuts—Song of Solomon 6:11, to be precise.” He recites it in a clear, soothing voice completely at odds with who he is as a person.

When Gon was younger, he’d probably think of this as a baffling contradiction. But he’s older now, and he understands: cruel people can say beautiful words, but they are still cruel. He’s not fooled for an instant.

“…And as it happens,” Chrollo says, his voice carrying a slight edge now, “the Kurta people were the ones who found nature sacred. No doubt your friend told you how they never wasted a harvest if they could help it, or how they were careful not to chop down too many trees for firewood.”

“He told me a little about it,” Gon says. His smile feels more like a rictus. “It sounds like a good life!”

“Hm. Perhaps. Of course, the Chain User has certainly strayed far from that life, hasn’t he?”

Distracted, Gon’s mouth asks why before his brain can put it together.

There’s a barely-perceptible pause as Chrollo’s mask-like face slowly changes to detached amusement.

“He’s left you alone with me.”

Gon’s mind freezes. He stares at Chrollo’s calm, ever-unblinking gaze like it’s a crack in a frozen pond, and he’s in the center.

“About that,” Gon finally says, his heart beginning to race. “I’m not the one you want to fight. I have no _Nen_ —”

“—I’m well aware.”

Gon doesn’t know when Chrollo’s hand moved. But now it’s slammed him into a tree, and there’s a Ben’s knife in Chrollo’s other hand, dappled by forest light. It’s as beautiful and vicious-looking as Gon remembers; his panicking brain unhelpfully suggests he should buy one for Hisoka.

Chrollo’s bloodlust pours down onto Gon like a deluge of frozen mud, and he grits his teeth impotently as he realizes he can’t move an inch.

“Your _Hatsu_ isn’t worth stealing, true. But you do know where the Chain User is. Correct?” The question sounds wrong coming out of a voice so impersonal.

_If this keeps up, Hisoka’s going to ignore the plan and ruin everything—I can’t let him!_

Using all his willpower, Gon somehow manages to rest his hand on the knife blade, not enough to gouge but enough to make his muscles twitch in an urge to pull away. As expected, that makes Chrollo pause.

“ _Yes_ ,” Gon says, his voice roughened by frustration, “that’s why I’m _here_ , idiot! Kurapika trusted me to tell you: he’s here, on the littlest island a mile away.”

“And you were meant to lead me to him?” Chrollo’s gaze flicks from the knife to Gon’s eyes, his expression even more unreadable than Hisoka’s. “That sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not,” Gon says, before pulling his hand away from the knife and slipping out of Chrollo's grasp. “Why would I risk my hand otherwise? Kurapika’d never forgive himself if he knew!”

He makes sure his back is to the tree opposite Chrollo. His palm is slippery, but that’s a small price to pay. 

Chrollo doesn’t bother looking at the blade before wiping it off with his coat. “I suppose that’s true.” He pauses, and Gon knows he’s searching for Hisoka’s _Nen_. “…And Hisoka isn’t nearby. It’s just you and the Chain User?”

Gon nods. “Yeah. Kurapika wants this chase to be over just like you. You can sense him, right?”

Chrollo barely has to focus; that creepy not-smile is back in a flash. “Of course; you’re right, he’s not that far away at all. And compared to you, I know he'll give me a challenge.”

The knife vanishes into Chrollo’s coat pocket, and just like that his bloodlust begins to subside.

Gon takes the opportunity to back away down the path, now that he knows how fast Chrollo is. 

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

He thinks fast. “Like I said, Kurapika wouldn’t want me getting hurt on his account. If he saw _this_ …” He points to his bloody palm.

“That’s true. Very well—oh, and feel free to take my boat. I have other modes of transport.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Chrollo’s eyebrows rise then settle back into unreadable placidity. “Good. I take it you already talked with Kurapika?”

Gon nods. “I’m not too worried about him.”

“You know, I hope you’re right. Strong opponents are more entertaining.” He looks forward then back at Gon. “Oh, and one more thing: give Hisoka a fight worthy of him.”

“...Thanks, but why?”

“Because that way I’ll never have to hear his rambling again.” With a slight smile that suggests he’s aware of the hypocrisy, Chrollo turns and races toward Kurapika and their long-awaited battle.

It’s tempting, _seriously_ tempting, but Gon knows better than to tail Chrollo and risk getting in the way. Besides, he gets the feeling it’ll be an even match. He doesn’t think about the alternative, or the reason Chrollo came here in the first place. They’re only “possibilities”, and he knows there’s an “absolute” waiting for him.

His job done, Gon races back to Hisoka.

\---

As expected, he finds Hisoka at the white and blue cabin cruiser. He’s sprawled on the prow like he’s modeling for an ad, legs delicately askew, arms folded behind his head. Using _Gyo_ , Gon can see the strands of Bungee Gum clinging to Hisoka’s body and the boat, thus saving him from drowning.

“He was remarkably restrained today,” Hisoka says, his eyes half-lidded and taking note of Gon’s hand. “ _You_ were decidedly not.”

“I was out of options,” Gon says—he can feel the slight, stinging pain in his palm now, but as far as he’s concerned that’s a good thing.

“Then I’m a terrible bodyguard.”

“Come on, Hisoka, don’t pout like that—look, next time I’ll ask you for help, okay?”

“Promises, promises…”

“I mean it!” He holds out his hand palm up, showing the slight scratch there. “See, it’s not even that bad!”

Hisoka looks somewhere between relieved and disappointed—compared to Chrollo it’s a remarkable show of emotion. He leisurely holds out his hand. Pink aura bubbles from his index finger in warning.

“I see that Bungee Gum, what’re you going to do with it?”

“I was thinking about pulling you close,” Hisoka purrs, “and comforting you after your brush with death.”

Gon laughs, coils his legs, and leaps onto the boat. When he lands on all fours, his hand stings from the impact, but this only accentuates the rising warmth in his heart. The boat wobbles dangerously, saltwater sloshing against Gon’s feet.

“We should get in,” Hisoka says with a soft laugh.

“Yep,” Gon says, and they climb aboard.

They get the boat’s engine started and leave Chrollo and Kurapika behind, but it doesn’t feel like a permanent farewell to Gon. It’s not a certainty, but it’s better than worrying endlessly.

Perhaps other Hunters would still be counting their lucky stars that they survived interacting with Chrollo, and rightfully so. But Gon’s never been like that—the adrenaline’s fading away, and now he’s looking for the next adventure. _It’s because Hisoka’s with me. If he isn’t bothered by what happened, why should I be?_

Gon’s steering, glad that the boat has a sturdy roof—any longer out in the sun and they would look fresh from a deep-fat fryer (particularly Hisoka). The cool shade calms him down, and lets it sink in that _the plan worked_ , a rare event in a Hunter’s life.  

The boat’s engine purrs under Gon’s feet, which makes him shift his weight on the blue rug to avoid the ticklish feeling. The white wheel vibrates in his hands, constantly reminding him of the weight and power of this borrowed craft. (He longs for a fishing boat or schooner from Whale Island.)

He keeps his eyes on the horizon and the choppy, boat-rocking waves, even as Hisoka glides out of his peripheral vision to stand beside him, utterly relaxed.

“Having fun?” Hisoka asks.

“This is too fancy for me,” Gon admits, as he quickly turns the boat to avoid a buoy. “Let’s ditch this thing soon!”

Hisoka’s casual posture is ruined when he uses Bungee Gum for support. “Agreed on all counts.”

“We’ll go to Heaven’s Arena next, like we wanted to,” Gon says, mentally mapping their destination (he can’t risk looking at his phone). “There should be a place to stop soon!”

“I look forward to it.” Hisoka’s soft voice is thick with anticipation. He makes a thoughtful noise. “Can you teach me how to steer? You’ll get tired eventually.”

“Sure—it’ll keep you from getting bored, too.” Gon launches into an explanation, feeling rather than seeing Hisoka’s attentiveness. The space between them seems as malleable as rubber, stretching apart and melding together at their whims.

This moment doesn’t feel awkward or strange, the way that it did not that long ago. Instead, it feels like the rhythm of a card trick, the beginning of an illusion they both know is real. It will end, they will go their separate ways. But not right now.

Gon grins as he and Hisoka stare down the horizon like its a new challenger. _What else could I want?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! \0/ After a distressing year like this, a (more-or-less) happy ending is definitely needed, no?
> 
> If you're disappointed about the fade-to-black sex scene, sorry! I felt like Gon's senses would get overwhelmed very quickly, and there wouldn't be much internal monologue going on. But hey, the sexual tension got resolved! ^^;
> 
> At any rate: Thank you for reading, and sticking with this to the end!


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